PVRPLE 


AHD 


HOnESPVFi 


PURPLE 
AND   HOMESPUN 


Hovel 


BY 
SAMUEL  M.  GARDENHIRE 

AUTHOR  OF 

"THE  SILENCE  OF  MRS.  HARROLD" 
"  LUX  CRUCIS  "  "  THE  LONG  AKM  " 

ETC.      KTC. 


NEW  YORK  AND   LONDON 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 

1908 


Copyright,  1908,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 
Published  April,  1908. 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  THE  CAPITAL i 

II.  MARSHALL  TREEMON 17 

III.  AN  AMBASSADOR'S  DAUGHTER 27 

IV.  A  FOE  OF  THE  SHERMAN  LAW 36 

V.  "FOREVER"  MAGGIE 49 

VI.  OLD  MAN  BEECHY 61 

VII.  ROSE  LETCHER 74 

VIII.  THE  GOSPEL  OP  THE  DAWN 86 

IX.  VICTORIA  WEMYSS 97 

X.  CAPTAIN  TRAVERS in 

XI.  THE  YOUNG  MAN  FROM  THE  UNION  TRUST  COM- 

PANY     122 

XII.  MAGGIE'S  FORTUNE 131 

XIII.  A  MORAL  DUTY 140 

XIV.  A  MODERN  WISE  WOMAN 147 

XV.  A  MODERN  GREAT  MAN 158 

XVI.  THE  HIGHWAY  OF  LIFE 169 

XVII.  ON  THE  DEUTSCHLAND 182 

XVIII.  ST.  WEMYSS  TOWERS 189 

XIX.  THE  BEGINNING  OF  A  FAILURE 200 

XX.  MARSHALL  TREEMON  VENTURES 211 

XXI.  IN  LONDON 223 

XXII.  JOSIAH  TURTLE 232 

XXIII.  JACOB  ROTH  SEES  A  RESEMBLANCE 242 

XXIV.  THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  FORCE 252 

XXV.  THE  VOICE  OF  THE  TURTLE 263 


2135S48 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGB 

XXVI.  LADY  DARROW'S  RECEPTION 275 

XXVII.  MARSHALL  TREEMON'S  RETURN 286 

XXVIII.  POOR  MAGGIE 298 

XXIX.  AT  THE  CAPITAL 307 

XXX.  A  TOUCH  OF  PITY 315 

XXXI.  THE  COMMITTEE  AT  THE  WHITE  HOUSE     .     .  323 

XXXII.  THE  INFLUENCE  OF  LOVE 335 

XXXIII.  A  CHANGE  OF  HEART    .........  343 

XXXIV.  THE  BREAKING  OF  THE  ANVIL 351 

XXXV.  VICTORIA'S  LAST  WORD 362 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 


CHAPTER  I 

THE     CAPITAL 

WASHINGTON  looked  larger  to  him  this  morning  as 
he  paused  for  a  moment  beside  the  great  stone  pillars 
of  the  hotel,  his  gaze  wandering  up  and  down  the  broad 
surface  of  Pennsylvania  Avenue.  Not  larger  in  a  ma- 
terial sense,  although  it  was  a  city  of  constant  growth, 
but  larger  in  an  aspect  of  a  new  responsibility  that  had 
come  to  himself.  It  seemed,  since  he  had  seen  it  last, 
to  have  strangely  acquired  a  dignity  to  comport  with 
a  new  dignity  that  was  his  own — a  sense  of  something 
enlarged  and  broadened,  to  fit  his  own  enlarged  and 
broadened  mind.  He  was  no  stranger  to  it.  He  had 
seen  the  city  often  in  the  course  of  his  career,  and,  in  one 
sense,  for  years  it  had  been  his  home.  For  five  terms 
he  had  been  a  congressman,  representing  here  a  district 
of  the  State  for  which  he  was  now  a  Senator.  It  was  the 
fact  that  he  was  a  Senator,  a  fact  to  which  he  had  not 
yet  accustomed  himself,  that  now  impressed  him,  that 
came  to  him  with  a  more  overpowering  knowledge, 
since  he  had  had  the  leisure  to  think  of  it.  It  widened 
for  him  the  horizon  of  all  the  world.  Thirty-six  years 
of  age  and  a  place  in  the  highest  deliberative  body  of 
the  nation:  a  member  of  that  august  council  whose 


PURPLE   AND    HOMESPUN 

lists  were  resplendent  with  historic  names — names  that 
constantly  flitted  through  his  mind  and  disturbed  his 
slumbers  with  proud  dreams!  He  was  a  prey  to  new 
thoughts  and  reflections.  His  mind  dwelt  fitfully  upon 
the  scenes  of  the  late  contest,  wandering  back  to  the 
State  wherein  it  had  been  fought:  the  gathering  of  his 
friends,  the  caucus,  and  the  successful  and  triumphant 
conclusion;  his  own  realization  of  his  victory,  and  the 
added  and  self-conscious  appreciation  of  what  it  meant 
to  him;  his  speech  of  acceptance,  singularly  cautious  as 
to  gratitude  and  policy,  surprising  his  followers,  check- 
ing their  ardor  and  enthusiasm,  and  perhaps  disap- 
pointing them.  He  recalled  the  language  of  that  royal 
Frederick  called  suddenly  to  authority,  who  had  wel- 
comed the  fervor  of  congratulation  coldly,  who  had 
shaken  from  his  shoulder  the  familiar  hand,  putting 
aside  his  eager  friends  with  the  statement,  "I  am  now 
King,"  and  he  understood  the  spirit  in  which  the  famous 
words  were  uttered.  Perhaps  this  was  not  a  spirit  to 
be  endured  in  a  republic,  but  he  felt  a  new  power  stir 
within  him.  Responsibility  girds  itself.  He  was  grate- 
ful enough,  but  he  noticed  with  some  wonder  the  ab- 
sence of  a  certain  former  sense  of  pride. 

He  looked  at  his  watch,  hesitating  for  an  instant  at  the 
edge  of  the  sidewalk.  He  was  undecided  whether  to  take 
a  car  or  call  a  cab.  The  distance  to  the  White  House 
was  not  great,  the  matter  of  a  few  hundred  yards,  but 
his  journey  there  was  likely  to  be  interrupted.  Wash- 
ington was  full  of  his  acquaintances,  and  his  recent  days 
had  been  full  of  congratulation.  This  had  grown  tire- 
some. Flattery  was  sweet  enough,  but  his  arm  ached 
to  the  shoulder,  and  in  his  present  state  of  mind  he  felt 
that  he  could  dispense  with  more  of  it. 

Still  unchallenged,  he  turned  and  walked  slowly  up 
the  street  in  the  direction  of  the  Treasury  Building, 
near  which  he  was  hailed  with  a  word  of  greeting.  The 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

incident  was  trivial,  and  ended  with  a  familiar  nod.  His 
friend  passed  on,  and  he  moved  forward  now  with  a 
sense  of  relief.  It  was  not  every  one  who  knew  of  his 
recent  honor,  as  fast  as  it  was  the  habit  of  news  to  travel. 
He  could  be  welcomed  for  himself  and  for  his  familiar 
presence. 

Turning  along  the  thoroughfare,  the  green  and  foliage 
of  which  fronted  the  grounds  of  the  Executive  Building, 
he  passed  the  gateway  and  went  slowly  up  the  circular 
walk.  Here,  too,  Washington  had  been  transformed. 
The  home  of  the  presidents  magnified  itself.  It  was  no 
longer  a  squat  structure  of  blank  front  relieved  by  a 
cupola-covered  entrance  that  looked  like  a  magnified 
parrot's  cage — it  was  Corinthian,  Romanesque,  Greco 
in  outline,  beautiful  and  chaste  in  design,  and  of  noble 
proportions;  a  tabernacle  of  republican  simplicity.  How 
admirably  it  contrasted  with  the  gaudy  and  costly  pile 
near  at  hand,  dedicated  to  the  uses  of  the  army  and  navy! 

He  entered.  The  keepers  at  the  door  were  lavish  of 
smile;  they  crowded  forward,  beaming  upon  him.  He 
was  used  to  this,  but  now  they  beamed  anew  with  a 
Senatorial  welcome  that  was  broader  and  deeper  than 
he  had  known  before ;  it  held  a  significance  which  a  mere 
congressman  could  never  know.  This  was  not  a  place 
where  knowledge  of  him  was  wanting. 

He  was  passed  onward  towards  the  Executive  Cham- 
ber, accompanied,  deferentially,  familiarly,  companion- 
ably,  with  that  stately  informality  which,  in  this  home 
of  political  decorum,  had  elevated  adulation  to  an  art. 
He  was  bathed  in  the  consciousness  that  his  importance 
was  known.  He  must  not  misunderstand.  This  was  a 
seat  of  authority.  The  atmosphere  was  clairvoyant. 
His  conductors  had  no  special  instructions.  He  had 
acquired  the  added  attribute  of  a  greater  loyalty  to  a 
system  of  which  all  present  were  a  part.  The  attendants, 
keepers,  secretaries,  and  clerks  were  men  of  the  republic 

3 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

— commoners  drawn  by  the  accident  of  politics  from 
every  section  of  the  country;  they  spoke  in  brogue,  ac- 
cent and  dialect,  but  they  were  educated  to  a  knowledge 
of  the  place  and  its  significance.  The  visitor  was  of  the 
thirty-second  degree,  and  he  was  present  in  obedience  to 
the  ritual  of  his  order,  either  by  duty  or  supreme  com- 
mand to  do  homage  at  the  shrine  of  the  exalted  ruler  of 
the  thirty-third.  They,  the  faithful  wardens  of  the  outer 
gate,  knew  the  nature  of  his  obligations. 

In  the  chamber  next  to  the  ultimate  sanctuary,  the 
President's  reception-room,  he  was  delivered  over  to  the 
under-secretary.  Here  the  beam  was  radiant. 

"  Good  -  morning,  Senator  Treemon,"  said  the  young 
man,  the  title  accented.  "Congratulations!  The  Presi- 
dent expects  you." 

The  visitor  smiled. 

"Thank  you.     Is  his  Excellency  ready  for  me  now?" 

"Yes,  sir.  He's  alone.  I  took  him  your  telephone- 
message  myself.  Well — you  didn't  do  a  thing  to  them, 
back  home!" 

"I  got  in,"  replied  the  visitor,  smiling  again. 

"Got  in  " — and  the  voice  of  the  under-secretary  con- 
tained a  note  of  admirable  reproof — "I  should  say  so! 
The  third  ballot,  wasn't  it?  And  in  your  State,  too!" 

"Yes.     Politics  are  not  easy  in  my  State." 

"Easy!  I  should  say  not,"  the  reply  emphasized  by 
a  youthful  grunt  of  wisdom.  "Politics  aren't  easy  any- 
where. And  I  say,  Senator,  the  British  ambassador 
was  here.  I  heard  him  make  inquiry  about  you  when 
I  mentioned  your  name.  Perhaps  the  President  will 
tell  you." 

The  visitor  hesitated  for  a  fraction  of  a  second. 

"Has  Lord  Wemyss  gone?" 

"Yes,  sir.  You  should  have  met  his  carriage  at  the 
entrance  to  the  grounds.  Didn't  you?" 

"I  didn't.     Let's  not  keep  the  President  waiting." 

4 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

There  was  something  in  the  manner  of  the  genial 
young  man  that  brought  a  slight  flush  to  the  coun- 
tenance of  the  visitor.  He  bowed,  stepping  forward, 
and  his  conductor  threw  open  the  doors  to  the  wider 
chamber,  filled  with  the  sunlight  that  came  in  full 
radiance  from  the  grounds. 

"Senator  Treemon,"  he  announced,  again  accenting 
the  title.  He  ushered  in  his  charge,  discreetly  with- 
drawing as  the  President  rose  from  a  seat  at  his  desk. 

The  beam  from  the  outside  mingled  with  the  radiance 
of  the  sanctum.  The  fellow  of  the  thirty-second  degree 
met  the  worshipful  master  of  the  thirty-third  on  terms 
of  the  most  enviable  cordiality. 

"Ah  ha,  my  dear  fellow!"  and  their  hands  joined  in 
a  vigorous  grasp.  "You  won,  as  we  expected.  But 
it's  gratifying  to  have  things  over.  How  does  it  feel?" 

"Good." 

Marshall  Treemon  smiled  slightly,  standing,  as  the 
President  remained  erect. 

"You  came  in — last  night?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  President  leaned  easily  back,  his  hip  resting 
against  his  desk.  His  strong,  good-natured  features 
were  pleasant  to  see.  His  closed  fists  upon  the  polished 
surface  behind  him  sustained  his  muscular  arms  and 
broad  shoulders.  The  man  before  him  was  evidently 
his  friend  and  their  relationship  one  of  intimacy. 

"Sit  down,"  and  he  nodded  towards  a  chair.  "I'll 
stand  for  a  moment.  Occasionally  I  write,  and  it  tires 
me.  It  cramps  the  fingers." 

"They  hold  the  bridle-reins  better." 

"No,  they  don't."  The  response  was  sharp  but  good- 
humored.  "They  hold  the  pen  equally  well,  as  you 
know.  But  with  a  good  deal  on  one's  mind  all  physical 
exercise  tires  —  even  the  strongest  of  us.  I  am  glad 
you  are  in.  We  need  you." 

5 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"You've  been  good  enough  to  say  that  before,"  ob- 
served Marshall  Treemon,  quietly. 

The  President's  eyes  rested  upon  him  with  a  look  of 
quick  inquiry.  He  noted  a  change  —  perhaps  to  be 
ascribed  to  mental  strain  following  a  labored  campaign. 

"Yes;  I  said  it  after  your  last  election  to  Congress — 
which  seems  to  have  followed  a  series  of  mere  indorse- 
ments. You  are  luckier  than  some  of  us.  This  made 
a  heavier  draft  on  your  nerves,  eh?" 

"You  know  the  State,"  said  Marshall  Treemon.  "Ir- 
respective of  the  population  outside,  there's  my  chief 
city,  which  has  a  system  of  politics  all  its  own.  My 
metropolis  is  full  of — " 

The  President  lifted  his  hand  with  a  quick  laugh. 

"We  won't  say  what  your  metropolis  is  full  of,"  he 
replied.  "Sufficient  is  the  fact  that  you  won  the  State, 
and  won  it  fairly.  Now  that  we  have  it,  let's  keep  it." 

"Let's  keep  the  whole  country,"  said  Treemon,  look- 
ing up. 

"Good!"  ejaculated  the  President.  "I  intend  to  keep 
it.  So  you  came  to  look  the  field  over  in  advance — 
as  well  as  you  know  it.  But  you  are  late.  Victoria 
Wemyss  has  gone." 

"I  learned  last  night,"  replied  Marshall  Treemon, 
slowly,  "that  Miss  Wemyss  had  sailed." 

"Ah,  did  you?"  and  there  was  raillery  in  the  Presi- 
dent's voice.  "Of  course  your  last  month  has  been 
pretty  full;  but  you've  time  at  your  disposal  now. 
You  can  sail,  too.  Her  father  has  just  left  me." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause. 

"Was  he  good  enough  to  mention  my  name?" 

"Oh,  casually — I  believe  he  did,"  was  the  drawling 
response,  followed  by  a  short  laugh.  "If  you  think  it 
was  good  of  him,  he  did.  You'll  call  on  him,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

"I  wish  I  had  the  time  to  do  so.  I  came  here  es- 

6 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

pecially  to  pay  my  respects  to  you,  but  I'm  going  up  to 
New  York  to-night." 

"Steamer?" 

"Eh?" 

"For  Europe?" 

The  new  Senator  laughed  now,  his  gaze  falling  to  the 
floor. 

"Scarcely.  I  know  your  theory — that  it's  not  good 
for  a  man  to  be  alone — and  all  the  stale  adages  that  ac- 
company it.  My  life's  been  one  of  too  much  stress. 
I've  had  no  time  to  cultivate  the  good  opinion  of  women. 
I  guess  I've  told  you  that." 

"And  I  guess  you'd  better  take  time,"  returned  the 
President,  with  a  rising  accent.  "You're  getting  on 
in  years — old  enough  to  be  a  senator." 

"Well,  have  you  a  daughter  of  some  particular  rail- 
way president  at  hand?" 

"Better — far  better,  my  unworthy  friend!  I've  the 
daughter  of  an  ambassador — the  daughter  of  a  hun- 
dred earls.  I'm  not  anxious  for  an  international  match 
in  your  interest,  young  fellow — or,  old  fellow,  since  you 
are  old  enough  to  know  better.  You're  not  good  enough 
to  tie  the  laces  of  her  shoe;  but  she's  smiled  on  you  in 
the  knowledge  of  all  men,  and — " 

Marshall  Treemon  lifted  his  hand.  His  features  bore 
a  gravity  not  justified  in  the  humor  with  which  his 
friend  addressed  him. 

"I  was  insisting,"  continued  the  President,  "that 
you  were  not  worth  her.  But  if  the  folly  is  hers,  it  is 
not  for  you  to  protest,  in  a  greater  stupidity.  What 
was  it  one  of  your  great  colleagues  said  about  Oppor- 
tunity?" 

"If  I  thought  as  you  do — " 

"If  you  thought  as  I  do,"  broke  in  the  President,  in 
continued  good-humor,  going  behind  his  desk  and  seat- 
ing himself,  "it  might  be  your  luck  some  day  to  occupy 

7 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

this  very  comfortable  chair.  But  I'm  not  giving  you 
credit  for  such  wisdom.  I  am  only  enjoying  this  fine 
morning,  and  offering  you  a  little  friendly  advice.  Why, 
man,  you'll  need  to  get  married  to  keep  this  new  job 
of  yours.  I  marvel  that  your  people  have  stood  for 
you  so  long.  A  man  must  be  married  to  think  right  on 
public  questions." 

"I  shall  make  another  effort  to  complete  my  sentence," 
laughed  Marshall  Treemon.  "If  I  thought  as  you  do  I 
would  correct  my  single  state,  even  with  the  daughter  of 
a  bricklayer." 

"Well,  go  and  correct  it  with  some  one,  you  heathen,'' 
said  the  President.  "Really,"  he  continued,  his  man- 
ner changing,  "I'm  fond  of  Victoria  Wemyss.  Charm- 
ing, bright,  vivacious — a  rose  among  women." 

Marshall  Treemon  stood  erect,  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
looking  thoughtfully  out  of  the  window  on  the  green 
prospect  that  stretched  away  towards  the  monument. 

"Seriously,"  he  said,  "she  is  all  of  that.  And  a  man 
ought  to  know  his  mind  in  the  matter  of  a  woman,  even 
though  he  may  not  understand  her  sex  very  well.  I 
won't  confide  my  perplexity  to  you,  my  friend,  on  this 
subject  —  that  is,  not  as  fully  as  all  your  kindness  to 
me  might  justify.  But  a  fellow  who  sees  thirty-six, 
after  a  career  like  mine,  has  his  moments  of  doubt  when 
he  contemplates  a  highly  wedded  estate." 

"What's  in  it?"  laughed  the  President. 

"More  than  you  think.  Victoria  Wemyss — why,  I 
have  dreamed  of  her.  A  rose  among  women?  She's 
that.  But  I  have  been  in  politics  in  a  Western  State, 
and  I  am  thirty-six.  She  has  smiled  on  me,  and  within 
the  knowledge  of  all  men  ?  Well,  I  have  heard  the  gossip 
among  all  women,  and  it  has  moved  me  deeper  than 
you  know.  What  is  her  gentle  and  girlish  coquetry 
in  comparison  with  a  direct  knowledge  like  mine?  If 
she  could  look  behind  the  seeming  of  the  man  she 

8 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

thinks  she  knows — if  she  could  get  back  of  the  good 
clothes  I  wear,  and  the  smile  that  practice  has  made 
professional,  she  might  see  something  that  the  daughter 
of  an  English  ambassador  might  not  like." 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  said  the  President.  "Not 
if  you  are  the  fellow  of  our  intimacy  of  the  past  few 
years." 

"I  am  not,"  replied  Marshall  Treemon,  earnestly.  "I 
find  that  I  have  a  conscience,  and  begin  to  distrust 
myself.  And  she  is  responsible  for  it — Victoria  We- 
myss." 

"So,  it's  that  deep,  is  it?"  observed  the  President. 

" It's  that  deep,"  replied  Marshall  Treemon.  " I  know 
I  appreciate  your  friendship  for  me.  I  am  glad  of  my 
late  success,  and  proud  of  it.  At  first  blush  it  brought 
me  nearer  to  all  the  things  you  have  suggested.  But 
now  that  I  have  come  here,  and  have  talked  of  it,  I  am 
afraid.  I  am  glad  she  has  gone,  and  yet  the  knowledge 
was  a  bitter  knowledge  last  night." 

"Forgive  me,  old  fellow,"  said  the  President,  putting 
out  his  hand.  "I  do  not  speak  lightly  of  grave  sub- 
jects when  I  know  my  ground.  This  is  your  matter, 
since  you  put  it  in  that  way.  But  I  think  you  are  down- 
cast without  cause.  It's  a  phase  of  sentiment  with  which 
I  am  not  familiar.  To  me,  a  good  man  is  a  mate  for  any 
woman.  I  don't  find  that  a  political  life  has  played 
ducks  and  drakes  with  any  of  my  fine  feelings.  But 
there  are  some  features  of  Western  life  with  which  I  am 
not  familiar."  He  laughed  shortly. 

Marshall  Treemon  sat  down. 

"Don't  misunderstand  me,"  he  said,  his  agitation 
showing  itself  in  his  flushed  countenance.  "I  have  com- 
mitted no  recent  crime.  I  have  broken  none  of  the 
tenets  of  the  decalogue.  But  the  senatorship  was  my 
goal.  I  felt  that  when  I  should  reach  it  I  would  have 
achieved  all  of  my  ambitions,  and  would  stand  on  a 

9 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

pinnacle  that  would  enable  me  to  command  my  desires. 
Now  that  I  have  it,  it  brings  such  a  sense  of  new  respon- 
sibility— a  responsibility  the  nature  of  which  I  have  not 
confessed  to  you — that  I  am  disappointed." 

"Disillusioned?"  said  the  President. 

"In  a  measure,  yes." 

"It  doesn't  seem  to  me  that  you've  had  it  long  enough 
to  have  tested  its  possibilities  very  fully." 

"I  am  not  speaking  clearly,  my  friend,"  said  Marshall 
Treemon.  "I  know  that,  and  your  irony  is  just.  But 
I  felt  that  I  should  be  worthy  of — well,  any  good  wom- 
an, and — " 

"Why  not  say  the  daughter  of  an  ambassador,  since 
we  made  reference  to  one,"  interrupted  the  President. 
"I  vow  I  fail  to  see  the  difference,  in  this  view,  between 
her  and  forty  equally  estimable  young  women  of  our 
acquaintance.  She  is  just  as  charming  as  I  declared 
her  to  be,  but  in  all  reason,  what  is  there  sacred  about 
her?  7  know  the  divinity  that  hedges  the  great  of  any 
aristocracy,  in  the  popular  mind.  Her  father  surely 
doesn't  frighten  you?  He  is  a  worthy  elderly  man, 
pompous,  fat,  with  apoplectic  tendencies,  and,  if  the 
truth  were  known,  a  little  vulgar  in  wine.  I  have  friends 
among  the  brewers  in  New  York  whom  I  esteem  as  high- 
ly. You  know  the  divinity  that  hedges  a  president, 
and  its  reflex  includes  a  senator.  But  are  we  deceived 
thereby?  My  dear  fellow,  you  are  either  conscience- 
stricken  or  madly  in  love.  What's  the  matter?" 

Marshall  Treemon's  features  relaxed. 

"My  good  friend,"  he  said,  "your  practical  common- 
sense  makes  me  ashamed.  Perhaps  I  am,  as  you  say, 
madly  in  love.  Something  ails  me,  that  is  true.  But 
your  experience  cannot  know  the  hesitation,  the  timidity, 
that  affrights  a  man  who  is  thoughtful,  is  thirty-six, 
and  finds  himself  for  the  first  time  face  to  face  with  the 
great  question  of  his  heart.  This  girl  has  stood  so  high 

10 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

— our  lives  have  been  so  different,  and —  Never  mind! 
I  did  not  come  here  to  waste  your  time  on  my  affairs." 

"You  are  forgiven,"  said  the  President,  his  manner 
again  jocular.  "If  you  think  you  need  pardon,  you  are 
forgiven.  /  introduced  the  subject.  Take  my  advice: 
sail  for  England,  and  come  back  a  happy  man.  If  that 
does  not  suffice,  trust  me  to  provide  occupation  for  your 
disordered  mind.  What  takes  you  to  New  York?" 

"Some  business  connected  with  my  mining  interests 
out  West;  and  then,  there  is  a  matter  of  the  Midland 
Central  Railroad.  I  have  some  stock  and  it's  not  doing 
very  well.  Its  affairs,  with  those  of  the  Interstate  Air 
Line,  are  complicated,  and  my  friends  say  they  want 
my  help." 

"Take  care,  my  boy!  That's  a  dangerous  mission. 
You  don't  wish  to  steer  your  new  political  career  im- 
mediately on  the  rocks.  A  corporation  merger  has  now 
more  fears  than  war  or  women;  and  when  it  falls,  'twill 
be  like  Lucifer — never  to  rise  again.  When  you  have  a 
Supreme  Court  that  looks  seven  ways  from  Sunday, '  it's 
one  of  those  things,'  as  the  elder  Sothern  used  to  say, 
'that  no  fellow  can  find  out.'" 

"I  scarcely  know  how  to  advise  them,"  said  Marshall 
Treemon.  "The  roads  are  losing  money  because,  since 
their  construction,  conditions  have  changed.  If  we  do 
nothing,  two  States  are  probably  bankrupt.  If  we  adopt 
the  logical  course  of  consolidation  and  economical  opera- 
tion, we  are  in  peril  of  the  Supreme  Court  Securities 
decision.  The  employe's  are  restless  and  dissatisfied,  like 
all  ill-led  and  irresponsible  bodies,  and,  apprehensive  of 
some  form  of  disaster,  hasten  it  by  indiscreet  action  and 
panic.  We  have  got  to  do  something — find  a  middle 
course  of  compromise,  or,  as  the  farmer  said,  'it  will  rain, 
in  spite  of  us."1 

The  President  laughed. 

"We've  got  to  find  the  middle  course  for  the  whole 

ii 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

country,  which  is  hard;  or  go  to  the  bow-wows,  as  the 
demagogues  will  have  it,  which  is  easy;  go  pell-mell 
under  the  big  majorities,  which  the  parties  are  organized 
to  control ;  or  wind  up  demoralized  and  socialistic.  We'll 
find  the  middle  course." 

"They  prefer  the  socialistic  conclusion  in  Chicago," 
said  Marshall  Treemon — "that  is,  those  big  majorities 
that  we  shall  go  pell-mell  under." 

"I  wouldn't  be  afraid  of  the  real  thing,"  said  the 
President,  "if  we  could  get  it.  But  always  we  come  up 
against  human  nature,  which  is  the  most  real  thing  we 
know  of.  I  remember  a  story  that  I  heard  Littlefield 
tell,  that  shows  when  you  scratch  the  Russian  you  get 
the  Tartar.  Out  West,  in  the  beginning  of  things  with 
him,  he  knew  a  man  named  Alden — a  young  fellow  of 
ideas  and  vagaries,  who  was  regarded  as  something  of  a 
crank  by  the  townsfolk,  but  whose  conduct  was  ex- 
emplary, and  who  seemed  to  have  a  proper  appreciation 
of  his  neighbor's  rights  and  some  regard  for  his  own. 
He  was  a  contributor  to  the  papers,  a  speaker  on  so- 
cialistic subjects,  and,  generally,  he  wrote  and  spoke  well. 
Alden  preached  the  brotherhood  of  man,  the  dawning 
of  the  better  day,  the  glad  time  coming  when  war  and 
strife  and  competition  would  go  to  cold  storage,  while 
Bellamyism  and  order,  peace  and  plenty,  would  make 
the  millennium  look  like  a  stormy  day.  All  this  impressed 
Littlefield,  who  was  himself  a  man  who  had  come  out  of 
the  common  people,  and  all  the  while  he  was  getting 
rich,  piling  up  hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars,  and  a 
lot  of  benevolent  resolutions  of  how  he  was  going  to 
benefit  the  human  race,  distribute  libraries,  and  all  that 
— when  he  had  accumulated  more  than  he  thought  he 
wanted.  So  he  read  Alden 's  articles  in  the  papers,  and 
then  he  went  and  heard  Alden  speak.  He  was  pleased, 
too.  Alden  had  one  of  those  faces  that  are  childlike 
and  bland,  straight,  straw-colored  hair,  placid  blue  eyes, 

12 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

and  that  gentle  and  earnest  manner  which,  as  Littlefield 
said,  makes  a  man  who  has  travelled  instinctively  put 
his  hand  on  his  pocket-book.  But  Littlefield  was  pro- 
vincial in  those  days,  and  the  doctrine  was  fascinating. 
He  knew  that  Alden  was  sincere,  so  he  made  an  engage- 
ment to  visit  him  some  evening  and  discuss  the  matter 
of  socialism  with  him.  Alden  was  flattered  in  two  ways: 
first,  at  having  brought  down  such  large  game,  and, 
second,  in  this  high  recognition  of  the  beauty  and  har- 
mony of  his  ethics.  He  thought  sure  that  the  sun  was 
rising  on  the  golden  dawn.  He  received  Littlefield  in 
his  bare  parlor,  with  its  bare  wall  and  bare  floor.  He 
seated  him  in  his  Spartan  chair  lacking  a  cushion,  and 
gave  him  hospitality  of  his  pipe  and  his  glass.  He  was 
modest,  unassuming,  and  exhibited  his  poverty  proudly 
and  without  shame.  Littlefield  was  captured.  The 
man  lived  by  example  up  to  his  creed,  and  Littlefield 
saw  the  beauty  of  holiness — that  honesty  of  purpose  ran 
on  all-fours  with  the  man's  doctrine.  He  sat  under  the 
charm  of  his  voice,  and  heard  him  tell  the  ' good- will-to- 
man' story,  and  the  'peace-on-earth'  story,  until  he  was 
ashamed  of  himself.  He  learned  that  Alden  had  al- 
ways been  poor,  had  always  professed  the  doctrine  of 
poverty,  and  stood  for  it  now  because  poverty  was 
chastening  and  unselfish  and  wealth  futile  and  a  vain 
thing.  Littlefield  was  converted.  His  arguments  went 
for  nothing,  because  he  could  not  make  any  that  Alden 
couldn't  confute.  Logic,  Scripture,  and  the  prophets 
were  with  him,  that  all  is  vanity,  and  man  of  but  few 
days  and  full  of  trouble.  He  had  quotation  on  the  tip 
of  his  tongue,  while  poor  Littlefield  was  only  a  money- 
grubber,  and  didn't  know  Proudhon  from  Augusta  J. 
Evans.  So  Littlefield  surrendered.  He  felt  that  he  had 
been  illogical  and  monopolistic,  taking  everything  for 
himself  and  leaving  nothing  for  his  fellows;  thinking 
about  Supply  and  Demand,  and  the  Survival  of  the 

13 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Fittest,  and  all  that;  so  he  announced  a  change  of  heart, 
and  invited  Alden  over  to  see  him  the  next  evening  to 
continue  the  discussion.  Alden  promptly  agreed  to 
come,  and  Littlefield,  being  under  the  process  of  con- 
viction— and  under  the  glamour  of  text,  precept,  and 
argument — prepared  to  honor  his  new  friend.  He  was 
going  to  pay  him  all  the  respect  that  he  would  pay  to 
the  biggest  of  his  millionaire  associates.  He  got  Alden 
up  a  banquet  all  by  himself.  The  big  house  was  ablaze, 
and  preparations  were  made  for  the  single  guest  as 
though  Littlefield  expected  a  whole  colony  of  plutocrats. 
The  servants  were  instructed  to  show  him  form  and 
deference,  and  the  Littlefield  family  were  all  marshalled 
out  in  lace  and  satin.  Poor  Alden  had  never  seen  any- 
thing like  it.  He  walked  on  Turkish  carpets  a  foot 
thick  and  sat  on  tapestried  chairs.  He  looked  on  gold 
furniture  and  costly  hangings.  He  saw  decorated  walls 
shaded  off  into  softly  frescoed  ceilings,  the  colors  bright 
under  hundreds  of  lights.  There  were  pictures,  rich 
from  the  old  masters — and  poor  Alden  could  appreciate 
this ;  and  his  eyes  grew  large  when  he  saw  the  library — 
he  loved  books.  All  this,  with  marble  statuary,  chaste 
and  white,  in  every  attitude  of  seductive  grace.  This 
anticipated  a  feast  of  fish,  flesh,  and  fruit,  followed  by 
rich  wines  and  as  rich  cigars. 

"Littlefield  again  confessed  his  conversion,  and  told 
Alden  that  he  was  ready  for  the  socialistic  life — that  he 
was  going  to  sit  at  his  feet  and  learn.  Alden  was 
delighted.  He  stole  furtive  glances  at  the  rich  pictures 
and  the  books.  He  felt  with  his  toes  the  thickness  of 
the  carpets.  He  looked  at  the  marble  statuary  and  his 
soul  broadened. 

'"Yes,  Mr.  Littlefield,'  he  said,  'the  socialistic  prin- 
ciple is  a  beautiful  one;  it  is  ennobling,  refining,  ele- 
vating. The  more  I  think  about  it  the  more  its  points 
of  merit  and  advantage  unfold,  particularly  in  the 

14 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

matter  of  simplicity.  You  and  I  mustn't  complicate 
it.  Please,  my  dear  friend,  don't  let's  waste  delusive 
time.  I'm  ready  when  you  are — when  shall  we  begin 
to  divide  up?' 

"Littlefield  was  a  practical  man.  He  saw  Alden's 
point,  and  with  incredible  swiftness  overlooked  it.  He 
is  now,  as  you  know,  a  stanch  monopolist." 

"I  know  that,"  said  Marshall  Treemon,  laughing  at 
the  President's  recital.  "Why,  he's  in  these  two  rail- 
roads that  annoy  me." 

"Yes,  and  lots  of  other  things  that  annoy  me.  Your 
troubles  are  nothing.  Wait  until  you  interest  entirely 
the  comic  artist  of  the  press,  then  you  will  understand 
why  Prometheus  had  a  good  job  and  ought  to  have 
clucked  to  the  vulture." 

"Well  " — and  Marshall  Treemon  now  laughed  with  his 
friend — "I  can  rejoice  in  your  health  and  spirits, at  all 
events.  I'm  off  for  a  time  at  least,  though  scarcely  to 
Europe.  What  have  we  to  look  forward  to?" 

"At  the  next  session?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh,  oh,  oh!  Wall  Street  and  the  corporations!  the 
Interstate  Commerce  Commission  and  Wall  Street! 
Wall  Street  and  the  Philippines!  and  the  Panama  Canal 
and  Wall  Street!  The  Spanish  poetry  used  to  boast 
that  Seville  was  right  under  heaven.  Wall  Street  is  right 
over —  Well,  I  know  you  have  some  pride  in  Chicago, 
but  you  will  have  to  defer  to  my  august  office  and  its 
local  prejudice.  Good-bye.  If  you  see  Launcelot  Duf- 
field  in  New  York  give  him  my  regards,  and  tell  him  the 
Sherman  law  is  still  on  the  statute  books ;  he  is  to  gov- 
ern himself  accordingly." 

Marshall  Treemon  laughed,  and,  warm  under  this 
interview  with  his  friend,  left  the  chamber  with  a 
lightened  heart.  Without,  he  encountered  the  under- 
secretary. That  astute  young  man  knew  the  generous 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

relations  that  existed  between  his  chief  and  the  new 
Senator.  He  looked  at  him  now  with  a  smile;  the  flat- 
tering length  of  the  conversation  justified  it.  In  Wash- 
ington scandal  is  a  fine  art,  curiosity  is  a  disease,  and 
gossip  penetrates  the  skin  and  attacks  the  bones.  Flir- 
tation is  a  matter  of  public  business,  and  a  genuine 
affair  of  the  heart  becomes  an  affair  of  state.  The 
young  man  knew  Marshall  Treemon,  and  suspected  one 
subject  of  the  conversation  just  ended;  he  had  not 
heard  it,  of  course,  nor  any  portion  of  it,  but  he  won- 
dered how  much  he  could  guess  for  the  benefit  of  his 
friends,  the  reporters. 


CHAPTER  II 

MARSHALL   TREEMON 

THERE  is  a  hazy,  indefinite  period  in  each  life  when 
memory  fades  into  a  childhood  that  has  no  beginning — 
where  the  mind  stops,  staggers,  and  gives  itself  over  to 
hearsay  and  tradition.  John  Marshall  Treemon,  since 
that  indefinite  time  which  began  his  knowledge  of  the 
world,  had  lived  his  life,  as  he  could  proudly  proclaim, 
"in  the  open."  This  was  a  phrase  of  particular  meaning 
in  the  community  which  claimed  him,  and  its  value  was 
great  in  the  estimation  of  those  who  had  subsequently 
to  do  with  his  political  career.  He  first  knew  himself  as 
the  son  of  a  prosperous  farmer  in  the  rich  prairie  vicinity 
of  Monmouth,  Illinois.  Martin  Van  Buren  Treemon  had 
come  there  at  the  period  immediately  following  the 
close  of  the  Civil  War.  He  was  a  vigorous,  sturdy  per- 
sonage of  no  particular  distinction,  and  of  no  record 
save  one  made  in  the  army.  To  use  his  own  language, 
he  had  "fought  mit  Sigel,"  a  fact  which  he  constantly 
reiterated,  and  which  should  have  occasioned  surprise 
when  considered  in  connection  with  his  name,  so  striking- 
ly American,  and  so  lacking  in  any  Teutonic  significance. 
But  the  pride  of  those  who  had  served  under  the  great 
German  commander  evidently  outweighed  his  simple 
appreciation  of  any  such  distinction;  he  was  content  to 
bring  from  the  recent  struggle  this  honorable  recollec- 
tion, and  to  assert  it  and  stand  by  it,  as  a  sufficient  badge 
for  the  consideration  of  any  one.  He  had  married  an 
obscure  woman  in  an  obscure  part  of  Ohio  prior  to  his 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

enlistment,  and  when  mustered  out  he  had  rejoined  her. 
Together  they  came  with  some  simple  patrimony  to  pur- 
chase the  land  which  was  the  early  home  of  a  man  des- 
tined to  become  distinguished.  He,  too,  lived  "in  the 
open,"  and,  until  his  legally  accredited  son  laid  him 
away  in  the  country  burial-ground,  he  went  to  gray  hairs 
and  an  honored  age  in  the  community  he  thus  selected 
for  his  home. 

In  such  surroundings  the  early  growth  and  develop- 
ment of  John  Marshall  Treemon  were  simple  and  com- 
monplace. He  labored  upon  the  farm.  He  attended 
school  during  term  times  at  the  adjacent  town  of  Mon- 
mouth.  He  clerked  in  a  store  until  the  prominence  of 
his  father  in  local  politics  procured  for  him  a  place  in  the 
post-office.  He  studied  law  at  Quincy  and,  later,  at 
Ann  Arbor.  He  was  elected  to  the  legislature  almost 
immediately  following  his  admission  to  the  local  bar, 
where  he  served  his  constituents  with  credit  and  to  their 
satisfaction.  Then  he  won  the  nomination  for  Congress 
in  his  district,  and  was  elected.  The  elder  Treemon  was 
a  man  who  in  his  later  life  had  achieved  some  learning, 
but  who  early  in  this  community  evidenced  characteris- 
tics of  patriotism  and  civic  pride.  The  name  he  had  be- 
stowed upon  his  son,  that  of  the  great  constitutional 
jurist,  had  helped  the  young  man  in  his  career.  That 
career,  up  to  his  closing  days,  had  filled  the  father's 
heart  with  pride.  There  were  neither  sisters  nor  brothers 
in  the  Treemon  family,  and  Marshall  Treemon,  as  he  was 
called,  was  an  only  son.  But  the  family  Bible  which 
lay  upon  the  walnut  centre-table  in  the  trim,  severe,  and 
sedate  parlor  of  the  farm-house  contained  no  record  of 
his  nativity.  The  solitary  inscription  marked  the  mar- 
riage of  Martin  Van  Buren  Treemon  to  his  wife,  and 
here  the  written  family  history  began  and  ended.  The 
county  archives  at  Monmouth  contained  a  recital  which 
might  have  been  of  interest  to  the  public,  but  it  was  lost 

18 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

in  the  years  that  followed  its  making.  Few  cared  to 
delve  in  the  pale  records,  badly  spelled  and  illy  written, 
that  lay,  dust-covered,  on  a  neglected  shelf  in  the  county 
vault.  John  Marshall  Treemon  knew  of  it  in  later  years; 
an  ancient  official  had  mentioned  the  circumstance  that 
gave  it  being.  He  read  it  in  silence,  without  subsequent 
reference  or  comment,  pale  and  thoughtful;  but  it  never 
became  public  property  in  a  sense  other  than  that  the 
public  owned  the  volume  that  contained  it.  Before  he 
died  the  elder  Treemon  spoke  of  it  freely  to  his  son,  but 
Marshall  Treemon,  thoughtful  and  silent  still  upon  the 
subject,  never  advertised  either  its  being  or  its  meaning. 

It  was  shortly  after  his  coming  to  the  county  that  the 
elder  Treemon  had  appeared  one  morning  at  the  office 
of  the  Probate  Judge.  He  was  accompanied  by  his  wife 
and  a  diminutive  boy.  The  woman  was  furtive  and 
frightened,  pale-faced  and  diffident,  after  the  manner 
of  farmer's  wives,  but  the  elder  Treemon  was  determined. 
A  man  who  had  experienced  with  Sigel  four  years  of 
war  was  not  likely  to  lack  resolution. 

"It's  this  way,  Judge,"  he  explained,  in  disclosing  his 
mission.  "I  am  gathering  about  me  some  property  here 
in  this  place,  which  I  mean  to  make  my  home  until  I 
die,  please  God.  But  I  have  relatives  back  where  I 
come  from  and  some  of  them  ain't  friendly.  We  dif- 
fered about  this  question  of  the  war,  with  some  odd 
questions  of  religion  thrown  in.  A  man  can't  tell  when 
his  hour  may  come.  I  want  this  boy  secure.  I've  got 
no  explanations,  beyond  that  I've  named  him  a  strong 
name,  with  mine  to  follow.  It's  nothing  strange  that 
court-houses  should  burn  and  records  be  destroyed 
touchin'  birth.  I've  seen  such,  recent.  It  ain't  likely 
this  one  will  be,  for  it's  a  time  of  peace,  so  I  want  a 
record  here.  I  want  to  adopt  this  boy,  legal,  so  that 
what  I've  got  he'll  get.  I  want  to  adopt  him  in  regular 
form.  My  wife  thinks  likewise." 

19 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

The  community  was  primitive  and  without  curiosity 
touching  personages  so  obscure.  Its  annals  were  sim- 
ple and  without  constraint.  The  officials,  who  met 
many  phases  of  life  in  that  new  and  growing  country,  a 
part  of  whose  farming  population  was  foreign,  saw  noth- 
ing for  comment  in  the  request.  And  so,  after  advertise- 
ment and  entry  in  due  legal  form  proclaimed,  John  Mar- 
shall Treemon  became  the  son  of  his  father,  and,  in 
the  official  eyes  of  those  who  made  the  registry,  twice 
entitled  to  the  position  he  was  thereafter  to  hold  in 
life. 

The  meaning  of  this  scene  was  never  to  be  called  up 
for  legal  controversy  or  explanation.  No  relatives  of 
the  elder  Treemon  came  to  renew  their  religious  or  po- 
litical differences.  The  Treemon  family  lived  its  life  in 
the  course  of  succeeding  events,  and  between  the  dusty 
leather  covers  of  the  neglected  volume  in  the  county 
vault  this  eventful  record  was  forgotten. 

A  congressman,  popular  in  his  district;  a  lawyer,  suc- 
cessful as  a  counsellor  in  the  interim  of  his  official  life 
at  home ;  a  young  man  fluent  of  speech  and  constantly 
developing  in  all  the  graces  and  accomplishments  of 
life,  bringing  from  the  East,  after  each  session  of  his 
duties,  new  evidences  of  his  worldly  consciousness  and 
attractiveness,  could  not  well  be  other  than  a  general 
favorite  among  his  own  people.  Marshall  Treemon  was 
hailed  as  the  most  promising  man  of  the  State.  He  was 
courted,  feted,  and  his  friends  were  legion.  At  Spring- 
field, Quincy,  Chicago,  and  even  at  St.  Louis  and  Louis- 
ville, he  was  known  and  welcomed.  He  speculated  with 
success  and  grew  in  wealth.  Each  succeeding  victory 
in  politics  added  to  a  confidence  that  became  daring. 
Men  heard  of  his  investments  in  Western  mines,  and  then 
he  was  spoken  of  as  a  millionaire.  This  became  in  time 
assured,  and  banks  and  trust  companies  in  various  cities 
sought  him  upon  their  boards  of  directors.  His  popu- 

20 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

larity  at  Washington,  reiterated  in  the  press,  grew  to 
be  a  fact  of  national  admission,  and  society  received  him 
there  as  a  factor  of  its  inner  and  most  exclusive  circle. 
He  was  worth  it,  for  his  labors  were  unremitting.  He 
was  a  student  from  the  beginning,  to  which  fact  the 
wisest  of  his  adherents  ascribed  his  success.  Foreign 
travel  made  him  a  linguist,  and  he  became  cultured  and 
profound.  But,  withal,  he  maintained  that  American 
characteristic  of  frank  good -nature  and  an  ease  of 
approach  that  cemented  all  the  political  bonds  at- 
tached to  him.  Upon  his  election  to  the  Senate  of  the 
United  States,  his  followers  declared  that  he  had  now 
become  the  strongest  political  force  in  all  the  great 
West. 

The  elder  Treemon  had  not  lived  to  see  this  trium- 
phant day.  For  years  he  had  basked  proudly  in  the 
honors  of  his  son,  his  own  life  broadening  as  his  boy 
grew  in  power.  Long  a  widower  (for  his  pale  wife  had 
died  almost  at  the  outset  of  their  son's  career),  he  lived 
with  his  housekeepers  and  farm-hands  on  the  rich  acres 
that  were  now  swollen  into  a  Western  principality.  For 
five  years  he,  too,  had  been  dead.  It  might  have  changed 
the  current  of  the  career  in  which  he  so  exulted  if  he 
had  not  confided  to  his  son  the  meaning  of  the  addition 
he  had  made  to  the  county  records  in  the  years  before. 
But  he  died  in  ignorance  of  any  significance  the  fact 
might  hold  for  them. 

The  West,  as  Marshall  Treemon's  State  was  a  part  of  it, 
is  not  a  country  wherein  society  has  a  distinctive  mean- 
ing. The  word  "  Fashion  "  is  there  a  term  of  limited  im- 
port. The  people,  the  community,  the  Church,  and,  above 
all,  the  political  bodies,  are  understood,  and  possess  a  spirit 
and  force.  But  society  and  fashion  determine  a  cult  of  the 
cities,  and  only  a  faint  manifestation  of  their  significance 
drifts  into  the  habits  and  life  of  the  dwellers  in  the  prov- 
inces. Marshall  Treemon,  a  figure  of  prominence,  mingled 

21 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

largely  in  the  affairs  of  his  community,  and  it  was  a  mat- 
ter of  constant  interest  that  he  remained  unmarried.  But 
his  single  state  excited  no  resentment.  Conditions  had 
not  so  fixed  themselves  within  this  territory,  or  in  any 
of  its  places  which  knew  or  claimed  him,  that  a  neglect 
of  matrimony  in  one  so  much  a  public  man  was  a  politi- 
cal indiscretion.  No  fond  mothers  angled  for  either  his 
honors  or  his  wealth.  He  was  greeted  in  any  household, 
but  he  came  and  went  without  convention.  His  clean 
life  was  beyond  comment,  and  his  constituents  asked 
for  nothing  more.  That  political  element  constituting 
his  opposition  found  his  daily  walk  flawless  on  the 
point  of  morals.  That  he  would  marry  some  day 
was  considered  a  certainty,  but  the  freedom  of  his 
community  left  him  in  this  respect  without  criti- 
cism. 

Such  was  the  man  who  claimed  the  President  for  his 
familiar  friend,  and  who  could  discuss  with  him,  upon 
terms  of  intimacy,  a  woman  who  of  late  had  lived  con- 
stantly in  his  mind. 

And  within  her  sphere  the  woman  was  scarcely  less 
distinctive.  The  President  had  drawn  upon  his  wide 
knowledge  of  literature  when  he  had  described  her  as 
the  "daughter  of  a  hundred  earls";  but  the  quotation 
was  justified  in  the  fact.  The  name  of  her  father  was 
one  of  the  oldest  in  the  British  peerage,  the  synonyme 
of  all  that  stood  for  pride  of  birth  and  exclusiveness 
of  position.  He  had  not  been  chosen  to  represent  his 
country  in  the  important  post  of  ambassador  to  Wash- 
ington in  accordance  with  the  usual  formula  of  the 
British  diplomatic  service.  He  was  an  accident  of 
policy,  and  of  new  and  unusual  conditions.  Several 
British  ambassadors  had  of  late  rapidly  succeeded  each 
other.  They  did  not  mingle  successfully  with  the  diplo- 
matic circle  at  Washington,  and  this  much  disturbed 
the  even  tenor  of  the  relationship  between  the  countries. 

22 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

The  French,  German,  and  Austrian  representatives  had 
maintained  their  positions  with  fair  repute,  but  the 
English  agents  had  been  unfortunate.  There  was  a 
truculence  here  in  American  feeling  irritating  to  British 
equanimity,  and  many  things  could  be  said  and  written 
and  published  ill-calculated  to  make  the  British  resi- 
dent at  ease.  He  learned  immediately  that  America 
had  twice  whipped  his  country  when  it  was  at  the  zenith, 
while  Yankeedom  had  not  yet  developed  more  than  its 
infantile  muscles.  He  was  to  regard  this  with  satis- 
faction and  complacency.  Here  was  the  money,  too, 
which  was  a  reflection  on  Lombard  Street,  and  Lombard 
Street  was  always  compared,  to  its  discredit,  with  Wall. 
Wall  Street,  always  a  source  of  disturbance  at  home, 
was  a  red  flag  flaunted  in  the  lion's  face  while  in  either 
House  or  Senate  some  notoriety-seeking  representative 
was  forever  twisting  his  convenient  tail.  And  the  free 
speech  here  indulged  in  was  denied  to  the  beloved  cousin 
from  beyond  the  seas.  If  he  suffered  a  lapse  in  this  re- 
spect, his  papers  came  forthwith,  however  indirectly 
they  were  delivered.  The  experience  acquired  at  St. 
Petersburg,  Paris,  and  Madrid  availed  him  nothing. 
At  Washington,  England  needed  a  man  with  no  expe- 
rience at  all — one  ornamental  but  non-assertive;  one 
without  eyes  to  see  or  ears  to  hear,  who  must  possess 
the  awful  English  inability  to  smile  without  wincing  at 
a  good  jest  at  his  own  expense.  If  he  didn't  like  it,  he 
could  lump  it — a  colloquialism  which  he  was  early  made 
to  comprehend. 

Lord  Francis  Wemyss  was  such  a  man,  and,  suiting 
his  position  admirably,  was  vastly  popular  in  conse- 
quence. For  two  seasons  his  daughter  Victoria  had 
been  the  belle  of  the  circle  which  he  adorned.  At  home 
she  lived  in  a  house  with  turrets,  in  the  country,  not  too 
remote  from  London.  It  was  a  large  place  with  a  ter- 
raced lawn,  and  boasted  a  park  of  many  acres.  Her 

23 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

windows  looked  upon  an  Italian  garden  with  fountains, 
and  St.  Wemyss  had  been  distinguished  since  the  days 
of  good  Queen  Anne.  Royalty  yet  visited  it,  and  the 
girl  in  her  younger  days  had  attended  upon  the  Princess, 
being  later  prominent  at  all  drawing-rooms.  These  were 
circumstances  in  the  nature  of  qualities  resplendent  in 
the  daughter  of  an  ambassador,  and  particularly  prized 
in  so  democratic  a  city  as  Washington.  They  might 
even  serve  largely  to  modify  any  official  deficiencies  of 
such  a  father.  Lord  Francis  Wemyss,  the  last  of  his 
family  in  a  direct  line,  with  a  half-nephew  in  waiting 
upon  Victoria,  was  a  pleasant  old  gentleman  who  had 
won  prominence  by  arranging  a  marriage  between  his 
second  cousin  and  a  princess  of  the  blood.  This  service 
put  him  in  the  line  of  recognition,  and  when  his  prede- 
cessor had  retired  ignominiously  to  Rome  for  having 
written  an  indiscreet  letter  to  a  naturalized  Briton,  the 
office  had  fallen  comfortably  to  his  hand. 

The  residence  of  the  British  ambassador  at  Washing- 
ton was  a  sumptuous  one  even  in  that  city  of  sumptu- 
ous houses,  and  Victoria  Wemyss  did  not  greatly  deplore 
the  change  from  her  home  with  the  turrets  near  Lon- 
don. She  missed  her  bungalow  upon  the  Thames  near 
Coxham;  but  when  she  visited  Newport  she  was  recon- 
ciled. She  missed  the  distant  relative  in  waiting,  who 
was  an  officer  in  the  Coldstream  Guards,  long  of  limb 
and  fierce  of  blond  mustache;  but  when  she  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Marshall  Treemon  the  reconciliation 
was  complete.  Washington  was  full  of  attractive  men, 
the  exclusive  circle  exulting  in  the  choicest  of  the  lot; 
but  Marshall  Treemon  was  so  entirely  different  from  any 
man  Victoria  Wemyss  had  ever  met  that  she  was  first 
interested  and  then  inclined  to  be  resentful.  Her  im- 
pression was  that  her  condescension,  which  she  had  in- 
tended merely  to  be  kindly,  had  been  misunderstood,  and 
that,  with  American  ignorance  of  polite  conventionality, 

24 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

he  had  presumed  upon  it.  But  she  got  over  this.  The 
difference  consisted  in  something  which  she  could  not 
explain,  which  was  the  reason,  as  she  declared  to  her- 
self with  true  feminine  logic,  for  her  interest.  In  the 
first  place,  he  lacked  diffidence,  and  met  her  without 
embarrassment.  This  was  not  the  case  with  any  eligible 
Englishman  in  the  beginning  of  an  acquaintance  with 
her;  it  was  not  the  case  with  many  men  whom  she  had 
met  in  America  or  elsewhere.  From  the  very  first  he 
appeared  to  stand  in  no  awe  of  her.  Heretofore  her 
beauty  and  position  had  been  wellnigh  invincible,  but 
she  overwhelmed  him  with  neither.  On  the  contrary, 
he  greatly  embarrassed  her.  He  discoursed  with  her 
upon  topics  of  such  importance  that  she  was  almost 
made  to  feel  that  it  was  a  condescension  upon  his  part  to 
discuss  them  with  her  at  all.  And  he  did  it,  too,  after 
a  manner  that  made  her  his  equal  in  an  understanding 
of  them,  making  it  appear  at  times  as  though  they  were 
of  her  selection  and  he  was  being  instructed  by  her. 
Treatment  so  rare  contained  the  very  essence  of  flattery, 
and  they  progressed  to  a  point  where  she  found  herself 
constantly  thinking  of  him  before  she  took  alarm.  The 
awakening  was  the  period  of  her  resentment ;  for  he  was 
only  a  congressman,  of  which  Washington  contained 
several  hundred.  It  was  true  that  many  were  rich, 
and  representative,  too,  in  their  respective  localities; 
but  what  was  mere  wealth  to  her  ? — and  what  were  these 
localities  but  American  places  of  odd  names  and  more 
incongruous  people  ?  In  Heaven's  name ! — was  she  think- 
ing of  the  West  as  a  place  of  permanent  residence? 
Why,  even  her  Newport  friends  could  have  the  good 
judgment  to  warn  her  against  a  fate  such  as  that! 
There  were  Newport  connections  who  did  live  in  the 
West,  but  then  they  were  acclimated,  and  had  a  life-long 
familiarity  with  the  customs  of  the  place.  America  was 
charming  in  many  respects ;  many  an  English  girl  could 
3  25 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

go  so  far  as  to  admit  that ;  but  this  was  as  far  as  Victoria 
Wemyss  cared  to  go,  and  she  brought  herself  up  with  a 
round  turn  when  she  came  to  realize  that  any  further 
consideration  of  Marshall  Treemon's  points  of  superiority 
would  be  an  indiscretion. 


CHAPTER   III 
AN  AMBASSADOR'S  DAUGHTER 

IN  the  course  of  his  varied  experiences,  which  in  brief 
outline  have  been  detailed,  Marshall  Treemon  had  known 
but  little  of  women.  His  state  of  single  blessedness  to 
the  age  of  thirty-six,  together  with  his  somewhat  in- 
definite remaiks  to  his  friend,  the  President,  made  this 
fact  certain.  These  same  remarks,  in  the  nature  of  a 
confession,  as  he  put  it  in  his  own  language,  disclosed  a 
condition  of  mind  upon  the  subject  which  would  have 
been  interesting  to  his  friends  of  the  West,  since  it  had 
to  do  (likewise  by  his  own  confession)  with  Victoria 
Wemyss.  He  had  declared  that  he  had  dreamed  of  her, 
and  that  she  was  a  rose  among  women.  Therein  he 
had  in  part  adopted  the  language  of  his  friend,  and  they 
were  terms  of  enthusiasm  common  enough  among  all 
ardent  men  who  were  in  love.  But  since  this  condition 
was  new  to  him,  and  its  object  was  an  English  young 
woman,  designated  as  the  "daughter  of  a  hundred 
earls,"  it  would  have  interested  those  attached  to  him 
to  know  the  meaning  of  such  a  distinct  departure,  and 
to  guess  what  might  be  its  possible  outcome.  The  great- 
er period  of  his  life  since  he  had  attained  his  majority 
had  been  one  of  restless  struggle  and  endeavor.  It  had 
taken  him  into  various  political  campaigns,  followed  al- 
ways by  a  period  of  service  at  Washington.  When  not 
in  the  field  in  his  own  behalf  he  had  been  called  upon 
to  work  and  speak  for  his  party,  laboring  for  nominees 
who  were  candidates  for  other  offices.  This  had  allowed 

27 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

him  little  time  to  cultivate  an  association  with  the  gen- 
tler sex.  He  had  met  women  of  every  attractive  shade 
and  complexion,  but  he  had  met  them  as  incidents,  and 
treated  them  as  such.  He  had  never  questioned  him- 
self upon  the  subject  of  sentiment,  although  he  loved 
literature  and  had  a  fondness  for  the  arts.  His  friend- 
ships were  strong  and  his  emotions  warm,  but  his  friend- 
ships were  for  men.  Passion  in  the  exalted  sense  of 
love  had  never  touched  him.  The  surprise  that  followed 
his  contact  with  Victoria  Wemyss  amounted  almost  to 
consternation  when  he  came  to  realize  the  feeling  she 
excited  in  him.  He  had  met  her  casually  at  a  dinner 
given  by  a  South  American  minister.  He  had  been  ap- 
portioned to  her  for  the  ceremony  of  the  table  by  his 
hostess,  and  he  had  accepted  her  as  indifferently  as 
though  he  had  been  assigned  to  a  dowager.  It  was 
when  he  had  felt  the  touch  of  her  hand  on  his  arm,  had 
looked  across  her  polished  shoulders  and  into  her  limpid 
eyes,  that  he  came  to  understand  that  the  incident  was 
likely  to  be  important.  The  impression  was  immediate. 
He  could  always  be  at  his  ease  because  he  had  met  so 
many  types  of  men  and  overcome  so  many  difficulties 
of  a  practical  character  that  the  mere  fact  of  a  girl  could 
not  disconcert  him.  He  could  talk  to  her  because  to 
talk  was  his  habit  or  his  profession,  and  he  had  come 
to  know  that  he  talked  well.  He  had  little  doubt  of  his 
appearance  or  of  his  personality  because  he  had  meas- 
ured himself  by  other  men,  and,  being  indifferent  and 
without  vanity,  he  had  a  ready  confidence.  This  con- 
fidence told  with  her  in  the  beginning,  and  induced  her 
to  respond  to  it.  And  thus  began  the  trouble  which 
grew,  and  fed  upon  itself,  and  remained  trouble,  for  they 
went  along  nicely  together  from  the  start.  He  was  quite 
sure  that  he  had  never  met  her  equal,  and  he  ended  by 
feeling  certain  of  it.  She  grew  quite  sure  of  the  same 
thing  on  her  part,  and  as  certain  as  he.  For  all  such, 

28 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

conservatories  lie  in  wait.  The  South  American  minister 
had  one  filled  with  his  native  plants,  and  into  it  they 
strolled  after  the  lengthy  meal,  during  which  they  had 
looked  into  each  other's  faces  and  found  them  good. 
The  conversation  trenched  dangerously  from  the  start. 

Yes,  she  had  travelled  in  Germany,  France,  and  Italy. 
She  had  known  many  men  there,  mostly  connected  with 
the  diplomatic  service,  or  with  the  army  or  navy.  Not 
because  her  father  was  in  the  service,  for  this  was  his 
first  post,  but  because  her  position  practically  precluded 
her  from  all  others.  They  were  interesting,  to  be  sure, 
but  then  she  had  read  a  great  deal  and  she  had  grown 
critical.  Odd,  in  a  girl,  wasn't  it? — and  she  laughed;  a 
most  silvery  laugh,  Marshall  Treemon  thought.  She  had 
been  so  long  in  society — she  was  tired.  America  was 
interesting  because  it  gave  her  a  new  point  of  view,  and 
people  she  met  here  discussed  new  topics.  American 
girls  had  ambitions.  English  girls  had  ambitions  also, 
but  they  were  circumscribed.  The  English  lady  served 
her  husband ;  the  French  lady  was  his  partner,  bringing 
him  a  dot,  but  then — there  were  limitations  to  the  pros- 
pects of  a  French  army  officer's  wife.  She  didn't  know 
about  the  Italian  women — mostly  the  young  Roman 
nobility,  who  were  always  seeking  advantageous  al- 
liances, which  did  not  appeal  to  a  girl  of  independent 
spirit.  Which  was  not  strange,  was  it  ?  He  was  startled 
to  find  this  very  interesting,  but  he  thought  not.  He 
didn't  see  how  it  could. 

She  laughed  at  his  manner,  and  he  laughed  with  her. 
They  were  in  high  good-humor. 

He  didn't  know  her  cousin,  Captain  Algeron  Travers, 
no;  for  the  captain  had  never  been  in  this  country. 
But  he  was  coming  shortly  to  make  them  a  visit,  when 
he  got  leave.  He  would  be  interested,  also,  in  Wash- 
ington as  she  was,  and  she  longed  to  see  him  for  that 
reason.  They  could  comment  upon  it  together.  He 

29 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

was  always  pulling  his  mustache,  and  spoke  with  a  drawl. 
She  missed  the  drawl  in  America.  Here,  men  spoke — 
well,  abruptly.  They  were  positive,  as  though  they 
knew  things  —  were  certain  about  them.  Girls  liked 
that. 

He  told  her  that  abrupt  speech  had  with  him  become 
the  habit  of  a  lifetime — a  habit  that  henceforth  would 
never  be  reformed;  that  emphasis  underlay  his  whole 
character.  And  they  both  laughed  again. 

And  now  he  spoke. 

This  was  the  pleasantest  evening  he  had  experienced 
in  years.  He  had  not  anticipated  anything  of  the  kind, 
coming  to  the  dinner  quite  accidentally.  He  went  out 
a  good  deal  in  Washington,  and  met  many  people,  but 
he  was  so  occupied  that  he  did  not  devote  himself  dis- 
tinctly to  society.  His  energies  had  been  principally 
directed  to  the  duties  of  his  office  and,  incidentally,  to 
acquiring  money.  This  was  because  he  saw  no  other 
outlet  for  them.  England  interested  him  greatly  be- 
cause it  yet  had  ideals.  There  was  a  king  for  loyalty  and 
a  flag  to  rally  around.  Other  countries  had  ideals  also, 
but  England  was  the  most  representative  among  the 
modern  monarchies,  and  nearer  in  simplicity  to  his  own 
country.  Here  we  had  not  determined  as  to  our  future 
definitely;  we  had  ideals,  but  they  were  vague.  We 
had  no  incentive  to  war,  or  glory,  or  pageantry,  or  splen- 
dor. We  were  a  republic,  modern,  and  hence  practical. 
We  lacked  many  of  the  common  elements  of  poetry  be- 
cause we  had  no  chivalry  connected  with  royalty,  nobil- 
ity, or  conquest. 

She  listened  with  wide-open  eyes. 

Yes,  that  was  the  foreign  opinion  of  America;  but 
she  had  not  heard  it  stated  with  such  directness.  She 
fancied  she  understood  it  now.  But  she  could  not  un- 
derstand a  country  without  ideals.  For  what  did  men 
work? 

3° 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

He  had  just  told  her — for  position  and  money.  It  had 
never  occurred  to  him  that  they  were  not  worth  much, 
as  the  end  of  the  highest  manly  effort.  Of  course  it  was 
a  proud  achievement  to  do  practical  things  of  value.  It 
was  something  to  lighten  the  burden  of  the  many  by 
providing  all  with  opportunity.  Poverty  had  been  the 
curse  of  the  masses  in  all  ages.  We  were  curing  this  by 
example. 

Yes,  she  understood  this.  But  what  were  they  to 
have  when  they  were  all  rich?  From  the  course  of 
things,  and  from  what  she  heard,  America  was  fast  ap- 
proaching that  happy  state. 

He  was  puzzled  for  a  moment,  but  he  answered  her. 
He  guessed  they  had  an  end  in  view.  There  ought  to 
be  a  goal  for  all  intelligent  endeavor.  The  future  would 
surely  provide  ideals  for  a  country  grown  opulent.  And 
then  he  looked  at  her  earnestly.  The  President's  simile 
had  not  at  this  time  been  given  words,  but  it  here  took 
form  and  substance,  that  it  might  thereafter  be  referred 
to:  she  was  a  rose  among  women.  He  had  labored  dili- 
gently without  reference  to  any  end.  He  had  done  the 
task  at  hand,  letting  the  future  care  for  itself.  But 
surely  there  was  an  inspiration  behind  his  efforts,  for 
Heaven  would  lead  no  one  blindly  into  space.  The  ulti- 
mate of  man's  aspirations  here  must  be  woman. 

Yes,  she  laughed,  of  course.  It  always  came  to  that 
in  the  mouth  of  a  man,  here  or  elsewhere.  The  ultimate 
of  chivalry  was  its  ladylove.  There  was  a  princess  for 
every  prince,  and  a  queen  for  every  king.  All  fairy 
stories  ended  so.  Even  the  practical  American  must 
pause  for  sentiment  sometimes,  after  all. 

Thus  they  talked,  and  there  were  other  meetings  and 
other  conservatories.  He  was  her  best  informant  of 
things  new  and  strange  to  her.  She  came  to  know  the 
nature  of  his  life  at  home  and  the  method  of  his  occu- 
pation; the  character  of  the  State  he  represented,  and 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

its  relationship  to  the  government  to  which  her  father 
was  accredited;  of  the  farther  West,  with  its  wide  plains 
and  the  mountains  of  California  beyond;  of  its  romance, 
its  great  cattle-ranches,  and  the  story  of  the  mines.  And 
they  were  not  barbarian  and  uncouth,  these  people  of  the 
West.  He  himself  but  fairly  represented  them.  Chi- 
cago, a  city  of  his  dominion  (and  she  came  to  fancy  that 
it  was  a  part  of  his  estate),  was  larger  than  Manchester, 
and  countless  trains  connected  it  daily  with  the  steamers 
that  brought  there  every  luxury  of  Europe.  She  must 
have  known  that  Italy  was  being  beguiled  of  its  art 
treasures,  was  stripping  its  churches  and  palaces,  to 
decorate  the  splendor  of  this  new  country.  That  the 
rugs  of  the  Orient  and  the  tapestries  of  France  were 
being  given  in  exchange  for  the  grain  and  cattle  that 
grew  and  fattened  upon  plains  there  larger  than  all 
Britain.  That  the  library  at  Alexandria  had  only  saved 
itself,  by  being  destroyed  at  an  early  and  inconvenient 
period.  That  the  mines  of  Golconda  had  long  since  been 
transported,  and  were  being  operated  in  Colorado  and 
Arizona.  That  the  Land  of  the  Sun,  as  typified  by 
Byron,  was  in  Texas,  a  single  State  as  large  as  half  the 
continent  of  Europe.  His  humorous  exaggeration  was 
made  smilingly  for  her  entertainment,  but  with  a  gentle 
assertion  that  made  a  plea  for  his  own  dignity.  He 
must  approach  in  some  measure  of  excellence  the  Cold- 
stream  captain  with  the  drawl  and  the  mustache. 

She  admired  the  strength  of  the  individuality  he  re- 
vealed, being  herself  of  a  land  where  its  men  proudly 
proclaimed  themselves.  She  was  familiar  with  this 
spirit,  and  as  it  appeared  in  him  it  was  not  offensive. 
And  all  the  while  their  intimacy  had  grown,  until  it  had 
reached  that  point,  where  both  had  halted,  each  to  con- 
sider what  it  meant.  Then  it  was  that  she  saw  her  own 
life  and  measured  it  with  his:  her  home,  her  friends, 
her  associations,  and  the  decorum  and  conventionality 

32 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

to  which  he  was  strange  and  unfamiliar;  the  English 
routine,  relaxed  and  formal;  the  social  relationship  of 
title,  church,  and  court. 

And  he  likewise.  He  stopped  short  in  the  very  sur- 
roundings in  which  he  knew  her.  Even  here  she  was  a 
creature  foreign  and  incongruous,  however  beautiful. 
His  utmost  fancy  could  not  take  her  in  his  company  a 
single  instant  towards  the  West.  She  stopped  where 
he  had  met  her,  temporary  and  transient.  A  farther 
forward  step  confused  him,  bringing  his  hands  to  his 
eyes,  blindly.  Their  friendship  continued,  but  theie 
was  a  lull  in  its  ardor.  When  they  had  last  parted  they 
were  staid  and  grave. 

Marshall  Treemon  did  not  call  upon  Lord  Wemyss  be- 
fore he  left  Washington,  nor  did  he  travel  towards  New 
York  with  a  design  of  sailing  for  Europe.  He  sat  deep- 
ly in  his  seat  in  the  train,  thinking  of  much  more  than 
the  under-secretary  could  guess.  He  had  had  an  awak- 
ening. Strong  events  in  some  lives  operate  like  earth- 
quakes and  shake  the  whole  character.  A  sudden  sor- 
row or  a  great  loss,  the  death  of  a  loved  one  or  some 
fierce  and  unexpected  disaster,  often  arouses  a  placid 
nature,  shaking  it  to  the  centre,  and  bringing  to  the  sur- 
face a  new  store  of  ideas,  thoughts,  and  resolutions.  The 
uninterrupted  career  of  Marshall  Treemon  had  met  no 
sudden  shock.  The  even  tenor  of  his  career  had  been 
serenely  forward.  Environment  had  carried  him  into 
his  party,  his  party  had  carried  him  on  to  success;  and 
industry,  with  a  sound  judgment,  had  made  his  fortunes 
cumulative.  Heart -free,  when  he  met  his  fate  he  suc- 
cumbed wholly. 

As  though  roused  from  a  lethargy,  he  looked  about 
him.  The  very  difficulties  which  waited  upon  a  possible 
union  with  Victoria  Wemyss  stirred  him  entirely,  and 
now  he  became  subject  to  all  manner  of  emotions.  Sen- 
timents heretofore  unsuspected  rose  within  him  and 

33 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

struggled  for  recognition.  Awakened,  he  searched  him- 
self and  his  career.  He  scanned  his  life  and  its  motives, 
viewing  it  bitterly  in  the  spirit  of  one  aroused  who  meets 
disappointment  and  opposition  at  the  threshold  of  his 
first  dearest  wish.  Was  he  honest,  had  he  been  sincere, 
did  men  honor  him  too  much,  and  was  he  worthy  of  the 
priceless  treasure  with  which  he  had  come  in  contact 
and  for  which  he  longed?  Had  fate  interrupted  him 
with  a  frown  and  a  barrier,  as  a  penalty  for  energy  mis- 
directed and  conscience  thwarted?  Was  he  really  an 
official  who  served  his  office,  or  was  he  a  politician  who 
had  seen  only  its  rewards  ?  He  was  wealthy.  Were  his 
gains  the  result  of  things  created,  or  of  honest  trade  and 
barter  in  the  world's  mart  ?  or  were  they  the  product  of 
opportunity,  or  a  skilful  traffic  in  commodities  which 
real  toilers  had  made  ?  A  man  of  party,  he  had  beaten 
down  the  Opposition  with  the  weapons  with  which  his 
associates  had  provided  him.  He  had  found  a  situation 
ready  to  his  hands,  as  he  progressed  from  stage  to  stage. 
The  logic  of  the  Opposition  had  not  appealed  to  him  be- 
cause it  was  the  Opposition,  and  now  he  seemed  to  see 
its  force  and  understand  it. 

This  mode  of  thought  had  been  common  to  him  of 
late.  He  felt  it  a  weakness,  but  he  could  not  rise  above 
it.  During  the  last  session  of  Congress  a  speech  made 
by  an  opponent  had  arrested  his  attention  and  induced 
a  new  train  of  reflections.  The  arguments  had  led  him 
into  a  novel  investigation  which  had  gradually  alarmed 
him.  An  honest  man,  he  began  to  question  himself, 
and,  doubt  succeeding  doubt,  he  found  himself  posing 
treacherously  on  the  confines  of  opinions  which  he  had 
heretofore  held  as  heresies.  His  late  success  and  his 
uncertain  state  of  mind,  growing  out  of  his  association 
with  Victoria  Wemyss,  had  stirred  his  whole  nature. 
Estray  for  the  first  time,  and  unable  to  deal  with  the 
problems  that  beset  him,  he  knew  not  where  to  turn  for 

34 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

counsel  or  sympathy.  He  had  been  reading  the  doc- 
trines of  socialism  :  Proudhon,  Henry  George,  Tolstoy, 
and  others,  because  of  the  growth  of  an  unsuspected 
sentiment  in  the  West,  which  he  thought  he  had  detected, 
and  which  he  conceived  was  large  enough  to  be  respected. 
He  thought  this  his  duty  as  a  citizen  and  a  representa- 
tive, and  he  found  that  it  confused  his  usually  clear 
mind.  This  was  the  meaning,  in  part,  of  his  suggestion 
to  the  President.  At  the  very  moment  of  his  triumph 
of  years,  at  the  moment  of  his  arrival  at  the  summit  of 
his  party's  confidence,  he  felt  himself  a  secret  traitor, 
and,  so  depressed,  he  felt  a  traitor  to  himself.  This  was 
not  a  state  of  mind  in  which  to  approach  the  tremendous 
solution  of  his  intimacy  with  Victoria  Wemyss.  There 
were  other  troubles  also,  and  one  ghostly  spectre  of 
such  terrific  aspect  that  in  this  connection  he  refused 
to  consider  it  at  all. 


CHAPTER   IV 

A    FOE    OF    THE    SHERMAN    LAW 

REACHING  the  terminus  at  Jersey  City,  where  the  ferry 
would  take  him  across  the  North  River  to  New  York, 
a  hand  detained  Marshall  Treemon  as  he  walked  towards 
the  slip. 

"Hello,  my  newly  elected  friend!  Congratulations, 
and  many  of  them!  Were  you  on  the  train?" 

Marshall  Treemon  paused,  and  greeted  the  man  who 
so  accosted  him,  warmly. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  said,  in  reply,  "but  I  didn't  see  you." 

"I  got  on  at  Newark,  and  went  into  the  smoking-com- 
partment  for  a  cigar.  Do  you  come  from  Washington  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Where  you  saw  the  President,  certainly,  and  went 
into  plot  and  counter-plot  relating  to  your  new  office." 

"No.  The  visit  was  purely  personal  and  necessarily 
brief.  We  didn't  discuss  public  affairs  at  all."  And 
here  Marshall  Treemon  laughed.  "But  he  spoke  of  you, 
and  sent  you  a  message." 

"You  needn't  deliver  it,"  the  other  chuckled.  "I've 
had  it  before.  It's  abou  the  Sherman  law." 

"Yes."     And  they  laughed  together. 

His  acquaintance  was  Launcelot  Duffield,  a  man 
somewhat  older  than  himself,  compact  and  firm  of  build, 
pleasant  in  appearance,  with  a  face  that  expressed 
strength  and  power.  He  was  a  person  who  of  late  had 
begun  to  loom  largely  in  the  financial  affairs  of  the 
country.  For  years  he  had  been  a  cotton  speculator, 

36 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

a  dealer  in  pork,  a  buyer  of  stocks  on  the  New  York 
exchange,  and  thereafter  a  factor  in  railroads.  Now  he 
was  a  part  of  that  force  which  was  strong  in  the  public 
eye.  Certain  newspapers  spoke  of  it  as  predatory. 
They  classed  him  with  a  coterie  residing  in  New  York 
called  the  Wall  Street  group,  a  body  of  multi-millionaires 
whose  enterprises  were  far-reaching,  covering  most  of 
the  important  public-service  systems  of  the  country. 
Their  operations  comprised  banks,  trust  and  insurance 
companies,  and  they  were  supposed  to  maintain  the 
tariff,  influence  legislation,  and  live  above  the  law.  Mar- 
shall Treemon  had  known  him  long,  but  none  of  these 
fear-inducing  characteristics  had  been  apparent  in  their 
association.  He  had  met  him  frequently  at  Washing- 
ton, always  at  the  best  houses,  and  had  visited  him  at 
his  country-place  on  Long  Island.  He  was  a  bachelor, 
as  yet,  but  Marshall  Treemon  knew  the  young  lady  to 
whom  rumor  had  engaged  him.  She  was  Lucia  Harring- 
ton, a  famous  beauty,  and  an  heiress  to  great  wealth, 
residing  on  Fifth  Avenue.  In  Launcelot  Duffield's  com- 
pany he  had  been  frequently  to  her  house. 

"Why  are  you  here  at  this  time  of  year?"  asked 
Launcelot  Dufneld,  suddenly.  "Is  it  because  of  the 
Midland  Central?" 

' '  Partly,  and  for  other  reasons.  But  I  have  my  doubts 
as  to  the  proposed  consolidation,  about  which  Mr.  Little- 
field  wrote  me.  If  it  is  along  the  lines  of  the  fateful 
Securities  case  we  can  guess  what  the  federal  courts 
will  do  to  it." 

"You  are  in  the  Senate  now,"  said  Duffield,  seriously. 
"I  was  glad  of  your  election,  and  I've  talked  to  all  my 
friends  about  it.  They  will  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"About  the  Sherman  law?"  observed  Marshall  Tree- 
mon, with  a  smile. 

"Yes,  sir.  When  a  man  can  violate  it  by  simply  wak- 
ing up  in  the  morning  and  knowing  he's  alive,  it's  time 

37 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

to  repeal  it.  I'm  sorry  to  find  all  our  best  and  strongest 
men  criminals.  I  think  the  Supreme  Court  is  sorry,  too. 
It's  an  able  body.  That  pronunciamento  in  the  Secu- 
rities case  wasn't  a  decision — it  was  a  confession." 

"It's  the  law — and  we've  got  to  live  up  to  it,"  said 
Marshall  Treemon. 

"Man  alive,  you  can't  live  up  to  it!"  cried  Duffield, 
impatiently.  "We've  got  to  live  under  it — more's  the 
pity!  I  can't  talk  about  it  with  a  good  temper.  Come 
up  with  me  to-night  and  see  Lucia.  She's  having  some 
friends.  Lord  Wemyss's  daughter  was  with  her  last 
week." 

"So  I  heard.     She  has  sailed,  I  understand." 

"Yes.  And  I  guess  she  won't  come  back  anymore — 
that  is,  to  stop  long  at  Washington.  Lucia  says  she's  to 
marry  her  cousin,  who  is  a  titled  fellow  of  some  sort. 
She's  a  nice  girl.  We  let  the  old  man  into  the  National 
Mutual." 

"The  holding  company  for  the  proposed  consolida- 
tion?" 

"Yes.  We  let  him  in,  with  a  lot  of  his  English  asso- 
ciates. They  are  influential  in  Belgium,  and  we  want 
a  Congo  concession  in  rubber.  The  Midland  scheme 
isn't  like  the  Securities  case,  but  we're  not  going  to  post 
any  bills  or  go  around  with  a  brass-band.  The  National 
Mutual  Iron  Company  will  take  in  the  stock  of  both 
roads,  the  Midland  Central  and  the  Interstate.  The 
difference  is  it  won't  'hold,'  it  will  'own.'  That  ought 
to  suit  the  courts.  Fox  has  it  in  charge.  Littlefield  is 
across  the  water jiow.  I  don't  think  we  need  him." 

"I  should  be  glad  to  see  Miss  Harrington,  but  I  won't 
go  with  you  to-night,"  said  Marshall  Treemon.  They 
were  on  the  ferry  now.  "I'm  tired,  and  will  go  to  the 
hotel." 

"All  right.  I  can  see  you  to-morrow.  My  auto  is 
waiting,  and  I'll  run  you  up." 

38 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"Thank  you,"  said  Marshall  Treemon.  He  leaned 
against  a  pillar  of  the  boat  on  the  upper  deck,  looking 
at  the  high  buildings,  that  seemed  to  grow  in  each  in- 
terval of  his  absence.  He  would  be  glad  to  see  Lucia 
Harrington  when  they  could  speak  together  of  Victoria 
Wemyss.  But  he  did  not  care,  in  his  present  mood,  to 
meet  her  in  a  press  of  friends. 

Duffield's  automobile  was  waiting,  as  he  said,  and 
they  climbed  in  without  delay.  During  business  hours 
he  was  always  in  a  hurry,  so  they  rushed  through  the 
streets  at  a  speed  that  threatened  arrest.  But  on  Fifth 
Avenue  they  slowed  down  in  the  mass  of  vehicles,  and 
Marshall  Treemon  looked  about  him.  He  was  almost 
as  much  at  home  in  New  York  as  in  Washington,  but 
he  never  visited  it  without  a  new  sense  of  wonder.  Be- 
cause of  its  intricate  life,  which  involved  the  peoples  of 
all  the  world,  to  him  it  was  the  base  of  the  great  Ameri- 
can problem — that  problem  which  now  haunted  him. 
It  did  not  differ  in  character  from  any  of  the  other  great 
cities  of  the  country,  but  it  emphasized  the  features  of 
each.  He  thought  of  it  with  a  sigh,  which  his  com- 
panion did  not  hear.  All  countries,  he  reflected,  make 
history  of  some  kind,  establishing  policies  along  which 
the  people  strive.  They  are  made  or  marred  as  they 
are  wise  or  weak,  strength  consisting  in  wisdom.  He 
was  endeavoring  to  understand  the  forces  within  his  own. 
He  knew  that  it  must  stand  or  fall  by  the  old  rule,  but 
the  application  of  the  rule  to  the  complex  and  manifold 
conditions  that  were  new  and  strange  made  the  prob- 
lem. His  conclusion  had  been  that  material  prosperity 
made  the  basis  of  strength,  and  he  had  seen  that  develop 
by  the  concentrated  efforts  of  strong  minds.  He  knew 
all  the  maxims,  but  they  did  not  help  him  much.  Mr. 
Webster  had  said,  "Educate  the  people,  and  the  country 
is  safe,"  and  this  he  had  regarded  as  a  phrase  as  elemental 
as  the  Constitution.  Knowledge,  then,  being  the  cor- 

39 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

ner-stone,  it  followed  that  the  men  who  had  it  and  evi- 
denced it  ought  to  conduct  affairs.  He  believed  in  a 
government  by  the  people,  but  the  deduction  was  that 
the  people  must  know  in  order  to  do.  He  halted,  per- 
plexed between  the  question  of  personal  right  and  in- 
dividual ability.  He  felt  that  when  he  had  solved  that 
question  to  his  satisfaction  he  would  know  wherein  lay 
his  duty.  And  all  the"~while  this  duty,  which  attached 
to  him  as  a  public  man,  was  mingled  with  his  feelings 
for  Victoria  Wemyss,  a  foreign  element  that  had  entered 
his  life  to  confuse  his  prospects  and  disarrange  his 
future.  He  was  testing  his  future  by  trying  to  decide 
whether  his  fortune  lay  in  following  his  public  career 
and  striving  to  fit  it  to  his  private  happiness,  or  aban- 
doning it  in  the  interest  of  his  private  happiness.  He 
could  see  no  light. 

Launcelot  Duffield  set  him  down  at  the  Waldorf- 
Astoria  Hotel,  and  then,  with  a  parting  word,  honked 
back  down  the  avenue.  Marshall  Treemon  registered, 
and  was  assigned  a  room.  For  a  time  he  rested,  and 
then  he  washed,  shaved,  and  went  down-stairs.  The 
big  lobby  of  the  hotel,  usually  crowded,  was  less  so  at 
this  hour.  Going  towards  the  cafe",  he  suddenly  con- 
fronted two  men  coming  into  the  hall,  and  nearly  col- 
lided with  them  in  the  doorway.  He  stepped  aside, 
scarcely  noticing  them,  with  a  muttered  apology  which 
mingled  with  theirs,  when  one  of  them  suddenly  spoke 
his  name. 

"Why,  Jacob  Roth!"  he  exclaimed,  as  the  man 
stopped  in  front  of  him. 

"Yes,  sir;  Jacob  Roth  it  is,"  returned  the  man.  "I'm 
glad  to  see  you." 

He  was  a  dark,  thick-set,  heavy  fellow,  with  a  strong, 
smooth  face  and  hair  that  slightly  curled.  His  smile 
disclosed  a  row  of  white,  doglike  teeth.  A  soft  hat, 
somewhat  at  odds  in  fashion  with  the  surroundings,  was 

40 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

pushed  back  from  his  forehead,  a  habit  of  wear  that 
showed  widening  temples.  A  square  coat  of  ordinary 
cut  proclaimed  him  and  his  station,  as  a  matter  of  ap- 
parel in  the  city  must  necessarily  do.  He  looked  the 
small  contractor  or  rural  tradesman  but  for  his  hands. 
The  one  he  gave  to  Marshall  Treemon  was  hard  with  toil. 
His  companion  was  younger,  probably  thirty  years  of 
age  or  more,  slight  in  appearance,  but  sinewy  and  strong, 
a  trifle  pale  of  features,  with  manners  at  first  significant- 
ly diffident;  this  impression  changed  as  he  grew  con- 
fident and  familiar,  and  it  was  readily  apparent  that  he 
was  fearless.  His  face  was  gentle  and  kindly,  and  he  stood 
a  little  behind  his  bluff  comrade,  who  pushed  his  mus- 
cular personality  into  the  atmosphere  of  the  great  hotel 
as  though  the  locality  aroused  in  him  a  spirit  of  defiance. 

"This  is  my  friend  Durgan,  Marshall — Matthew  Dur- 
gan,  or  Mat,  for  short,"  said  the  big  man.  "He's  a 
neighbor,  and  lives  in  an  adjoining  street.  Mat,  this  is 
Marshall  Treemon,  a  United  States  senator  now,  as  I 
see  by  the  papers.  But  he  doesn't  frighten  anybody, 
being  a  boy  with  me  out  West,  though  some  younger, 
as  you  can  guess." 

"We  lived  in  the  same  town,"  said  Marshall  Treemon, 
smiling. 

"We  did.  We  was  raised  there,  and  I  used  to  cham- 
peen  him  at  school.  We  was  friends  then,  and  he  used 
to  follow  me  in  the  games — that  is,  friends  until  he  went 
to  the  legislature  and  became  a  corporation  man  and 
plutocrat,  and  then  I  quit  him.  But  we've  met  up 
socially  from  time  to  time,  because  I  like  to  remember 
our  boyhood,  and  think  him  a  little  better  than  the 
politics  he  follows.  That's  so,  Marshall,  ain't  it?"  And 
he  laughed  boisterously,  pushing  Marshall  Treemon  with 
his  heavy  hand  at  the  shoulder.  The  gesture  was  friend- 
ly, one  of  rough  good-nature,  that  his  companion  might 
not  misunderstand  his  speech. 
4  41 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"It  is  as  he  says,  Mr.  Durgan,"  Marshall  answered. 
"We  were  youthful  bad  characters  together  for  many 
pleasant  years.  The  number  of  orchards,  melon-patches, 
and  pigeon  -  roosts  we  have  devastated  together  ought 
to  have  committed  us  both  to  a  life  of  crime.  If  I  have 
become  nothing  worse  than  a  plutocrat  in  consequence, 
I  deserve  great  consideration." 

"There's  nothing  worse  than  a  plutocrat,"  said  the 
big  man. 

"And  you?"  said  Marshall  Treemon,  shrugging  his 
shoulders  and  following  his  humor.  "I  don't  know 
what  this  fellow  has  become,  Mr.  Durgan." 

"Just  now  he's  president  of  Union  No.  10  of  the  As- 
sociated Iron- workers,"  said  Matthew  Durgan,  looking  at 
him.  "That's  a  strong  honor  down  in  our  section,  as  he 
sees  it — which  it's  probably  a  strong  honor  in  fact." 

"It's  a  strong  honor  in  any  section,  Mat,"  rejoined 
his  friend.  "  I  ain't  looking  much  higher.  Jacob  Roth, 
president,  and  that's  a  grade  above  a  senator,  Marsh." 

He  addressed  his  early  acquaintance  with  the  familiar- 
ity of  their  boyhood,  after  the  invariable  fashion  of  the 
West. 

"But  he's  something  else  which  he  has  not  told  you, 
Senator,"  said  his  companion,  dryly.  "He's  a  rank  dis- 
turber of  the  peace,  a  getter-up  of  strikes,  and  knows 
more  things  that  ain't  so  than  any  man  on  the  East 
Side.  Just  now  he  thinks  he's  a  socialist,  being  an 
atheist  already.  He'll  be  an  anarchist  to-morrow.  I've 
noticed  that  the  three  go  together." 

"We've  been  debating,"  said  Jacob  Roth,  "and  I've 
won  out.  That's  what's  the  matter  with  him." 

"He  hasn't  collected  any  gate-money  yet,  Senator," 
said  Matthew  Durgan. 

"Let  us  sit  down,"  said  Marshall  Treemon,  looking 
about.  "I  am  glad  to  see  an  old-time  friend." 

They  found  a  corner  in  the  corridor  with  three  great 

42 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

leather  chairs,  and  arranged  themselves  comfortably, 
away  from  the  crowd. 

"That  was  the  politician  in  him  that  spoke,  Mat," 
said  Jacob  Roth.  "He's  been  successful  at  that.  I 
knew  him  when  he  clerked  in  a  store  and  I  was  appren- 
ticed to  my  uncle,  who  was  a  blacksmith.  I  became  a 
machinist,  which  you  bet  I  was  a  good  one;  and  he  be- 
came a  politician,  and  I'm  bound  to  say  he  was  a  good 
one,  too.  Why,  he  couldn't  lose!  Things  came  his  way 
so  hard  they  made  him  lazy.  And  now  he's  in  the  Sen- 
ate, stopping  at  this  unholy  home  of  wealth,  while  you 
and  I  live  down  on  the  East  Side  in  quarters  smaller 
than  his  anteroom  up-stairs.  We've  no  business  here. 
Marshall,  except  to  buy  a  cigar  and  take  a  look.  All  of 
us  like  to  survey  this  place  once  in  a  while,  just  as  we 
like  to  ride  on  the  bus  up  Fifth  Avenue.  It  gives  us 
things  to  talk  about  down  at  the  union.  How  are  the 
folks  out  home?  I  suppose  you  have  been  there  re- 
cently?" 

Marshall  Treemon  answered  him,  mentioning  various 
names.  Each  was  followed  by  a  familiar  laugh  or  a 
terse  comment.  Jacob  Roth  had  not  lived  in  Monmouth 
for  many  years,  but,  as  he  said,  he  had  been  a  figure  of 
the  place  in  his  boyhood — a  bluff,  hearty,  reckless,  and 
hard-fisted  figure ;  and  such  places  long  cherish  memories 
of  those  once  attached  to  them.  Marshall  Treemon  had 
met  him  occasionally  during  the  years  that  intervened. 
He  knew  him  for  an  industrious  and  successful  workman, 
although  something  of  a  rover.  Early  in  his  congres- 
sional life  he  had  sent  him  a  letter  in  response  to  a  re- 
quest for  a  word  that  would  be  of  influence  at  the  Pitts- 
burg  shops.  Later  he  had  seen  him  in  Washington  and 
been  thanked  by  him,  the  letter  having  served  its  pur- 
pose. Some  years  later  they  had  met  in  Chicago.  He 
knew  Jacob  Roth  for  a  politician,  too,  for  he  had  boasted 
of  it — a  worker  with  the  labor  organization,  a  professor 

43 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

of  that  democracy  with  the  various  taints,  of  which  so- 
cialism was  one,  found  among  those  whose  fortunes  cast 
them  intimately  with  the  foreign  element.  But  he  was 
good-natured,  frank,  and  of  open  spirit,  and  Marshall 
Treemon  welcomed  him  always  with  a  friendliness  born 
of  his  youthful  memories. 

"You  are  not  married  yet,  are  you,  Jake?"  he  asked, 
pleasantly.  "I  have  long  thought  that  you  ought  to  be 
anchored.  That  if  you  would  take  a  wife  and  settle 
down,  you  might  be  a  man  of  strength  in  your  com- 
munity." 

"I  am  not,"  was  the  short  reply,  Jacob  Roth's  manner 
changing.  "You've  long  thought  wrong,  as  you  are  apt 
to  think." 

"I  see,"  said  Marshall  Treemon.  "You  are  only  in 
jove.  That's  promising." 

"See  yourself,"  and  the  tone  was  still  surly.  "I  can 
see  that  there's  something  on  your  own  mind,  since  you 
are  so  ready  with  such  a  question.  You  haven't  mar- 
ried, I  guess,  or  I'd  have  noticed  it.  Your  marriage 
would  be  big  enough  to  get  in  the  papers." 

"I  am  as  single  as  you  are,"  said  Marshall  Treemon, 
discerning  that  something  was  wrong.  "But  I  have 
been  warned.  They  tell  me  that  my  new  office  carries 
a  responsibility.  You  couldn't  suggest  one  of  our  old 
sweethearts  at  home?" 

"I  couldn't  suggest  anybody,  and,  what's  more,  I 
wouldn't.  If  that's  a  requirement  of  the  senatorship, 
you'd  better  resign.  Keep  away  from  the  women,  old 
man.  You'll  sleep  better." 

"Those  are  the  symptoms,"  laughed  Marshall  Tree- 
mon. 

"Are  they?"  And  Jacob  Roth  laughed  also.  "Now, 
Mat  here  has  got  a  wife  that's  worth  seeing.  I  wish 
you  could  come  down  on  the  East  Side  and  take  a  look 
at  things." 

44 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

He  pushed  his  finger  against  his  silent  friend,  across 
the  arm  of  his  chair. 

"You  would  like  him,  Marsh,  if  you  knew  him.  He's 
of  your  studious  kind.  But  I  can't  get  him  right  on 
politics." 

"Not  your  politics,"  said  Matthew. 

"You  and  Marsh  would  agree,"  said  Jacob  Roth. 
Then  he  addressed  his  comrade.  "I  can  talk  with  you, 
Mat,  but  not  with  Marsh.  It's  too  serious.  I  get  mad 
when  I  think  of  all  the  things  he  stands  for.  But  we 
are  going  to  do  away  with  them  before  long.  He  couldn't 
be  expected  to  know  that,  though." 

"Scarcely,"  replied  Marshall  Treemon.  "But  you 
haven't  held  my  views  too  strongly  against  me;  you 
have  been  considerate,  Jake,  when  we  have  me":,  and  I 
owe  you  something  for  that." 

"You  owe  me  something  else,"  said  Jacob  Roth,  sud- 
denly. "Do  you  remember  that  you  asked  me  to  let 
you  know  if  I  ever  came  across  a  party  by  the  name  of 
Michael  Beechy?" 

Marshall  Treemon  started. 

"Of  course  I  remember  it,"  he  said.  "What  have 
you  to  tell  me?" 

Jacob  Roth  chuckled  to  himself,  and  then  laughed 
with  a  big  grin. 

"I  have  found  such  a  party,  but  I  guess  he  ain't  the 
man  you  wanted.  You  ought  to  see  him!  But  the 
name  is  similar." 

"Similar!     What  is  it?" 

The  abruptness  of  the  reply,  with  its  question,  con- 
tained a  note  too  deep  for  Jacob  Roth. 

"Why,  it's  the  same:    Michael  Beechy." 

"Well?" 

Jacob  Roth  regarded  him  with  some  curiosity. 

"Well  " — and  here  the  accent  was  imitated,  humorous- 
ly— "I  know  such  a  man,  and  Durgan  knows  him,  too. 

45 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

He's  a  rank  Irelander,  not  of  Mat's  kind,  but  from  a  place 
on  the  east  coast.  He's  mean  enough  to  have  been  born 
in  England,  as  I  was,  and  fifty  years  in  America  'ain't 
done  him  much  good,  either.  If  it's  your  wish  to  know 
him,  you  can  see  him  any  time — provided  we  can  catch 
him  sober." 

Matthew  Durgan  smiled  at  his  friend's  words. 

Marshall  Treemon  was  thoughtful.  No  one  but  him- 
self knew  how  long  he  had  looked  for  such  a  personage, 
how  unsuccessfully  he  had  advertised  for  such  informa- 
tion, and  along  what  avenues  he  had  projected  his  in- 
quiries. 

"I  think  it  is  important  that  I  should  see  this  man," 
he  replied,  slowly.  "I  am  a  lawyer,  you  know,  and  in- 
form? t':n  of  this  kind  sometimes  means  much." 

"If  it  means  much  for  him,  I  hope  you  will  make  him 
remember  it  for  me,"  laughed  Roth.  "I  think  you  had 
better  go  down  there  with  me — or  with  us,"  he  added, 
looking  at  Matthew  Durgan.  "The  East  Side  must  be 
new  ground  for  you." 

"I  thank  you,  old  friend,"  said  Marshall  Treemon, 
earnestly.  "If  to-morrow  will  suit  you,  I  will  go." 

"To-morrow,  or  to-day,  for  that  matter,"  replied 
Roth.  "I  can  come  here,  or  you  can  come  around  to 
Mat's.  I  will  meet  you  there." 

Marshall  Treemon  listened,  nodding  his  head. 

"Very  good.     Give  him  your  card,  Mat." 

Matthew  Durgan 's  slender  fingers  slipped  into  an  inner 
pocket  and  produced  an  address. 

"You  can  take  a  cab  if  you  like,  Senator  Treemon," 
he  said;  "they  are  sometimes  seen  over  there;  or  you 
can  take  a  cross-town  car." 

"Take  the  car,"  said  Roth.  "I  warn  you  that  you 
won't  see  much.  Beechy  may  be  in  liquor,  as  usual. 
But  if  I  see  him  to-day  I'll  tell  him  we  expect  a  visitor 
for  him  and  it  might  be  to  his  advantage  to  keep  sober 

46 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

until  after  you've  gone.  The  old  rascal  can  smell  a  dol- 
lar as  far  as  his  niece's  pay-day.  If  you  think  it  won't 
get  into  the  papers,  we  can  see  something  of  each  other, 
social,  after  you've  finished  with  the  old  chap.  But 
these  reporters  hang  on  the  trail  of  a  man  like  you.  The 
union  might  wonder  what  we  were  talking  about,  and 
I  stand  too  well  to  risk  a  suspicious  connection.  Strange, 
ain't  it,  that  your  company  should  be  dangerous  for  any 
man?" 

"Rather,"  and  Marshall  Treemon  found  the  humor 
to  smile.  Jacob  Roth  had  spoken  the  truth.  In  this 
building,  through  the  halls  of  which  every  manner  of 
man  roamed  unchecked  if  presenting  a  demeanor  of 
respectability,  they  might  speak  casually  without  ques- 
tion; here  master  met  mechanic,  and  the  millionaire 
met  miner  and  promoter.  But  Marshall  Treemon  might 
be  a  strange  figure  in  the  vicinity  to  which  he  had  been 
invited.  Except  for  his  position,  he  might  go  where  he 
would,  a  careless  world  indifferent,  but  a  senator  from 
the  West  must  be  careful  in  great  cities. 

"I  will  come  in  the  car — and  modestly,  too." 

"That's  right,"  said  Jacob  Roth,  glancing  at  him 
carelessly.  "I  would  leave  that  silk  hat  and  long  coat 
up-stairs.  The  little  boys  play  ball  down  in  the  streets 
where  we  are." 

He  rose,  stretching  himself,  preparing  to  go. 

"It's  a  business  visit,  strictly,  Mr.  Roth,"  said 
Marshall  Treemon,  standing  stiffly,  himself  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

"That  excites  my  curiosity  none;  you  may  make  it 
social,  too,  as  I  said,  Mr.  Treemon,"  replied  Jacob  Roth, 
good-naturedly.  "Come,  Mat." 

"We  did  not  fix  the  hour,"  said  Marshall  Treemon. 

"Make  it  five  o'clock.  It  may  be  dark  when  you've 
finished,  and  then  we  will  show  you  the  gas-lights. 
There's  more  Jews  down  with  us  than  live  in  Palestine, 

47 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

and  more  Italians  than  live  in  Rome.     We  don't  count 
Armenians,  niggers,  and  Chinese." 

"I  know  the  statistics,"  laughed  Marshall  Treemon. 

Jacob  Roth  shrugged  his  shoulders  for  an  instant,  and 
muttered  a  low  ejaculation  like  an  oath. 

"But  you  don't,"  he  said;  "or  if  you  do,  you  don't 
know  what  they  mean.  I  think  I  would  like  to  intro- 
duce you  to  a  woman,  Marshall,  since  you  mentioned  the 
marriage  question.  It  would  entertain  you,  and  I  know 
it  would  me.  She  can  talk  politics  to  you  without  get- 
ting mad.  You  may  lose  your  temper,  but  she'll  keep 
hers.  When  she  gets  through  with  you,  she  will  have 
taught  you  more  things  than  you  will  ever  learn  in  the 
United  States  Senate." 

Matthew  Durgan  laughed. 

"He  knows  her,"  chuckled  Roth,  nudging  his  com- 
panion with  his  elbow.  "I'm  right,  ain't  I,  Mat?  She 
would  like  to  talk  to  you,  Marshall,  and  your  company 
won't  hurt  her,  nor  frighten  her,  neither.  And  she's 
true,  too,  and  you  can  trust  her.  She  never  gives  any- 
thing away." 

"Never  mind  the  woman,"  said  Marshall  Treemon, 
impatiently,  "although — I  beg  pardon — I'll  be  glad  to 
meet  any  one  to  whom  you  wish  to  present  me.  But  this 
old  man — this  Beechy;  he  is  an  old  man?" 

Jacob  Roth  looked  up  suddenly. 

"I  didn't  say  so,  did  I?"  he  asked,  in  surprise. 

"You  said  he  had  been  fifty  years  in  America,  and  I 
infer  that  he  wasn't  brought  here  a  babe." 

Jacob  Roth  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"What  does  it  matter?  Yes — he's  old  enough.  You 
are  a  lawyer,  I  see,  as  you  said.  I  don't  often  forget 
my  remarks.  Perhaps  he's  your  party,  after  all." 

They  shook  hands  in  silence,  and  the  men  went  away, 
leaving  Marshall  Treemon  standing  quietly  alone,  look- 
ing thoughtfully  at  the  floor. 

48 


CHAPTER  V 

"  FOREVER  "    MAGGIE 

THE  East  Side  of  New  York  is  full  of  stately  houses 
that  were  once  the  homes  of  the  wealthy.  It  was  once 
the  aristocratic  side.  But  the  wealthy  have  long  since 
gone  northward,  and  their  ancient  dwellings  are  tene- 
ments. But  once  built,  they  must  endure  until  time  and 
trouble  demolish  them,  and  they  dot  the  congested  dis- 
trict like  monuments,  stately  even  in  decay.  The  space 
occupied  by  yard  and  stable  has  long  since  been  filled 
up,  and  rows  of  modern  flats  with  balconies  and  fire- 
escapes  line  the  straight  and  narrow  streets  with  a 
monotony  depressing  to  the  sight.  The  dwelling  known 
to  this  neighborhood  as  No.  48  was  on  an  alley-like 
thoroughfare  just  west  of  its  juncture  with  Avenue  A. 
There  were  other  dwellings  of  similar  number  on  other 
side  streets,  but  they  were  without  significance  or  his- 
tory. This  house  sat  slightly  back  from  the  long  rows 
of  buildings  beside  it,  boasting  a  small  area  that  had 
once  been  a  grass-plot.  The  high  windows,  devoid  of 
balconies  like  the  tenements  beside  it,  had  once  been 
pretentious.  They  still  retained  the  massive  plate  win- 
dows of  a  former  glory,  but  the  lower  ones  were  lettered 
for  the  sign  of  a  tailor,  and  in  the  basement  was  a  plumb- 
er's shop.  This  kept  the  gate  of  the  rusty  iron  fence 
perpetually  open,  where  it  was  looped  to  a  picket  with 
a  wire.  The  last  blade  of  grass  had  gone  with  the 
owners,  and  the  ground  was  a  soil  of  no  color,  beaten 
to  the  consistency  of  asphalt.  Within  the  hall  of  the 

49 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

first  floor  a  wide  stairway  led  to  the  upper  stories,  its 
balusters  of  mahogany.  The  fine  old  wall  retained,  in 
jutting  cornice  and  fluted  niche,  some  evidences  of  its 
days  of  opulence.  The  ceilings  were  lofty  and,  amid 
dust  and  grime,  showed  the  pattern  of  an  ancient  fresco. 
Now  the  walls  were  scratched  and  defaced,  and  up  the 
stairway  countless  children  had  left  the  imprint  of  soiled 
hands.  This  murky  record  showed  traces  of  pictures, 
and  unworthy  scribes  had  lettered  it  with  aphorisms 
replete  with  a  vulgar  wisdom  that  was  sharper  than  a  ser- 
pent's tooth.  Some  effort  to  obliterate  the  grosser  feat- 
ures of  this  history  had  added  to  its  chaos.  Mr.  Wello- 
by,  the  plumber,  had  assisted,  by  protest,  to  this  reform. 
He  did  not  live  in  the  building,  but  occupied  a  comfort- 
able home  some  blocks  away  in  a  less  congested  vicinity; 
but  he  had  the  welfare  of  his  place  of  business  at  heart, 
and  he  was  aided  by  a  tenant  whose  displeasure  or  rebuke 
in  all  that  crowded  quarter  was  more  potent  than  a 
recorded  law.  The  Swedish  tailor,  Mr.  Pedrick,  who 
rented  the  first  floor  and  lived  with  his  family  in  the  rear, 
was  a  man  of  respectability,  and  gave  his  co-operation 
to  anything  which  tended  to  repress  the  too  exuberant 
impulses  of  the  community.  Outside,  the  surroundings 
were  those  of  the  most  densely  populated  portion  of 
the  city.  It  teemed.  It  seethed  and  roared.  It  was  a 
caldron  of  humanity  that  bubbled  for  twenty-four  hours 
in  each  day.  The  crowded  Paris  of  Hugo,  Sue,  and 
Dumas,  the  London  of  Dickens,  Reynolds,  or  Whyte- 
Melville,  knew  no  such  spot.  It  was  cosmopolis  in  minia- 
ture, wherein  was  gathered  all  the  children  of  the  earth. 
It  was  neither  unhealthy  nor  the  abode  of  crime,  how- 
ever it  might  lack  in  morals.  It  was  merely  an  ant-hill 
or  a  beehive,  where  countless  thousands  of  the  lowly 
lived  elbow  to  elbow  in  a  babel  that  was  world  without 
end. 

But  No.  48  had  a  respectability  of  its  own.     In  the 

So 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

annals  of  the  neighborhood  it  was  marked  as  the  abode 
of  a  peculiar  virtue,  distinctive,  because  in  this  com- 
munity no  particular  virtue  was  like  to  flaunt  itself.  Here 
lived  "  Forever  "  Maggie,  the  niece  of  old  man  Beechy, 
a  man  with  whose  character  virtue  had  nothing  to  do. 
Every  one  knew  "Forever"  Maggie  Rooney.  Mr.  Wello- 
by  knew  her,  and  spoke  for  her,  as  did  Mr.  Pedrick,  the 
Swedish  tailor.  She  had  first  come  into  public  notice 
shortly  following  the  death  of  her  mother  some  seven 
years  back,  whose  demise  left  her  a  pitiful  orphan.  Or- 
phans, and  pitiful  ones,  were  common  enough  here,  but 
she  did  not  long  remain  pitiful.  She  had  made  a  name 
for  herself  that  was  spoken  reverently  even  in  the  neigh- 
boring saloons.  And  every  one  knew  old  man  Beechy, 
whom  she  supported — more  was  the  pity — and  her  broth- 
er Blade,  whom,  to  his  discredit,  as  the  neighbors  were 
agreed,  she  supported  also.  And  all  believed,  further, 
that  it  was  her  gentle  influence  that  kept  him  from  the 
Island — the  Island  being  the  city  prison  in  the  East 
River,  which  was  the  boundary  of  the  great  East  Side, 
which  prison  was  at  all  times  stocked  with  a  choice  as- 
sortment of  his  friends  and  boon  companions.  Mrs. 
Durgan,  whose  husband  kept  the  phonograph  shop  but 
two  doors  away,  worshipped  her  as  a  superior  being, 
and  Father  O'Grady,  the  priest  who  visited  her  weekly, 
always  stopped  to  speak  of  her  to  Dan  Magee,  the  police- 
man; and  Dan  Magee's  eyes  always  glistened  thereat 
with  a  significant  and  peculiar  light. 

"It's  a  fear  I  have  always,  father,"  he  said  often, 
"that  I  will  have  to  pinch  the  boy  some  time.  It  would 
break  her  heart,  of  course,  and  if  it  was  not  for  the  girl 
herself  I'd  get  a  transfer.  The  Mother  be  praised,  the 
roundsman's  me  friend,  and  he  gives  the  young  feller 
a  word  of  warnin'  himself  once  in  awhile." 

She  was  "Forever"  Maggie  because  old  man  Beechy 
was  forever  drunk,  in  spite  of  which  she  was  forever 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

bright  and  forever  cheerful.  The  name  had  attached 
to  her  because  of  that  mysterious  influence  which  some- 
times touches  the  heart  of  the  generally  selfish  and  in- 
different throng.  The  poor  of  a  community,  by  reason 
of  suffering,  are  quick  and  sensitive,  however  selfish  and 
indifferent  the  throng,  and  she  was  "Forever"  Maggie 
because  she  was  forever  patient,  forever  dutiful,  and 
lived  a  life  of  such  courage  that  they  knew  she  would  be 
faithful  to  any  end.  And  even  the  throng  had  paused 
in  the  haste  of  its  own  melancholy  career  to  wish  that 
old  man  Beechy  might  die  some  time,  and  free  her  from 
a  bondage  that  was  nevertheless  a  bondage,  in  spite  of 
its  heroism  and  fidelity.  "But  as  he  is  drunk  forever, 
it  seems  that  he  will  live  forever,  the  old  devil!"  said 
Mr.  Pedrick,  "although  he  has  not  put  his  hand  to  her 
since  she  was  a  child.  And  if  he  did,  and  we  knew  it, 
not  Danny  Magee  with  the  reserves  behind  him  could 
keep  the  mob  from  him,  as  little  heart  as  they  might 
have  in  the  job  of  interferin'."  But  old  man  Beechy 
had  long  since  ceased  to  be  anything  but  a  maudlin  beg- 
gar on  her  hands.  He  was  only  idle  and  worthless  now. 
But  Blade  was  another  matter,  being  vigorous,  lawless, 
muscular,  and  eighteen. 

"Pretty,  is  she?"  said  Dan  Magee  to  Jacob  Roth,  out- 
side the  entrance  to  Union  Hall,  although  nothing  that 
Jacob  had  said  called  for  the  remark  in  the  form  of  a 
question.  "You  have  noticed  her  as  she  walks  to  the 
car  every  morning,  with  her  head  high  and  her  light  step 
giving  spring  to  the  cobble-stones.  There's  many  a  man 
at  the  restaurant,  more  than  a  policeman,  who  would 
marry  her  off-hand  if  she'd  say  the  word  and  I  was  out 
of  it.  What's  the  delay  she  don't  tell,  being  that  I'm 
safe  in  me  job  and  stand  well  with  the  district  leader. 
Perhaps  it's  the  old  duffer  who  don't  die,  my  mother 
not  submitting  to  have  him  about  the  house,  and  Maggie 
guessing  it.  She  saved  the  money  to  bring  Blade  from 

52 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

the  old  country,  and  a  useless  sacrifice  it  was,  as  I  think. 
They  were  forced  to  leave  him  with  his  grand  dame  when 
they  came,  the  old  woman  being  yet  alive.  Perhaps 
she's  saving  to  bring  the  old  woman  over,  too.  I'd  pay 
the  charge  to  keep  the  old  lady  safe  at  home  if  I  had 
the  right;  but  if  to  bring  her  over  would  save  dispute, 
she  could  come  and  welcome." 

Jacob  Roth  had  troubles  of  his  own,  but  he  did  not 
confide  them.  Being  of  mixed  blood,  his  character 
lacked  the  Irish  frankness.  He  was  resentful  of  the 
English  strain,  holding  it  a  taint,  and  was  silent  in  con- 
sequence. His  temper  was  sullen  at  times,  and  Rose 
Letcher,  another  woman  who  had  joined  the  ranks  of 
Maggie's  admirers,  added  to  his  melancholy.  But  he 
was  a  friend  of  Maggie's  also,  and  had  been  since  she 
was  a  little  girl.  Before  the  advent  of  Rose  Letcher  the 
neighborhood,  designated  "the  Corners,"  had  said  that 
he  was  raising  her  for  a  wife,  so  constant  was  he  at  her 
house  and  so  carefully  did  he  look  after  her ;  but  the  big 
iron-worker  resented  this.  "I'm  old  enough  to  be  her 
father,"  he  said,  "and  it's  a  father's  feeling  I  have  for 
her.  Not  being  married  and  having  children  of  me  own, 
I  love  the  brave  little  girl  that  contends  with  so  much. 
And  the  man  that  speaks  disrespectfully  of  her,  or  for- 
gets himself  when  I'm  not  about,  had  better  leave  the 
Corners  before  I  hear  of  it.  I'm  loving  her,  yes — but 
that's  the  way  of  it."  And  this  relationship  between 
them  grew  upon  his  part  into  a  worship  of  her,  and  Dan 
Magee  could  speak  as  freely  to  Jacob  Roth  on  this  sub- 
ject as  he  could  to  the  good  priest. 

On  the  day  set  for  Marshall  Treemon's  coming  into 
this  peculiar  neighborhood,  and  at  about  the  appointed 
hour,  Blade  Rooney  stood  under  the  narrow  glass  canopy 
that  ornamented  a  corner  saloon.  From  his  point  of 
vantage  he  could  look  down  the  narrow  street  of  his 
home  or  up  the  broader  surface  of  Avenue  A.  The  shops 

53 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

were  still  active,  and  the  row  of  push-cart  peddlers  along 
the  curb  attended  to  a  few  late  customers,  and  kept  at 
bay  the  horde  of  children  that  filled  the  space  between  the 
sidewalks.  He  watched  them  idly — blocking  the  pas- 
sage of  vehicles,  stoning  the  vagrant  dogs,  and  shouting 
at  the  denizens  of  the  tenements  who  slouched  at  the 
windows  or  stood  with  bared  elbows  and  coatless  bodies 
over  the  iron  rail  of  the  balconies.  He  was  hitched  back 
against  the  wall  near  the  shutter  doors  of  the  saloon,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  his  hat  jauntily  on  one  side  of  his 
head,  his  knee  cocked  forward  in  a  nonchalant  attitude 
of  defiant  youth.  From  his  post  on  the  pavement  across 
Avenue  A,  Dan  Magee  watched  him  discontentedly,  his 
heart,  that  of  a  peace  guardian,  filled  with  wrath  at  the 
picture,  symbolic  of  all  his  troubles.  He  was  not  philoso- 
pher enough  to  know  that  it  made  him  also  his  job.  It 
was  sufficient  that  here  was  anxiety  for  Maggie.  He  had 
sent  many  a  stout  ruffian  across  the  river.  With  his 
back  against  a  wall,  protected  by  his  good  stick  and  his 
thick  helmet,  he  had  been  the  centre  of  much  turbulent 
history  about  the  Corners,  with  Blade  Rooney  on  the 
outskirts  shouting  encouragement  to  his  assailants.  But 
he  kept  his  temper  for  Maggie's  sake,  and  trusted  to  the 
priest  and  the  district  leader.  He  had  the  wisdom  to 
know,  with  a  deep  sigh  of  relief,  that  there  were  some 
things  in  heaven  and  earth  for  which  a  policeman  was 
not  responsible. 

Jacob  Roth  and  a  stranger  turned  the  corner. 

"Ah,  Dan,"  said  the  iron -worker,  "good -afternoon. 
Here's  a  political  friend  of  mine,  on  the  other  side — Sena- 
tor Treemon." 

The  policeman  saluted. 

"Up  State?"  he  asked. 

"Naw;  out  West.  He's  a  lawyer,  with  some  sort  of 
a  case  affecting  old  man  Beechy.  It's  to  his  advantage, 
maybe,  if  he's  the  man,  so  we  are  going  to  his  house. 

54 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Could  you  keep  that  boy  yonder  on  the  street?  I'm 
telling  you,  because  he  could  sell  a  story  to  the  reporters 
that  would  get  our  pictures  in  the  papers." 

"What's  the  good  of  asking  me?"  growled  Dan  Ma- 
gee,  frowning  darkly.  "Your  own  word  would  do  bet- 
ter. Kick  him  out  yourself.  There's  more  fear  of  you 
in  him  than  for  the  whole  force  at  the  station.  I  seen 
the  old  man  a  minute  since;  he's  gone  home.  The  lad's 
watching  us  now." 

"Ah  ha!"  And  Jacob  Roth  laughed.  "He's  going 
in  the  saloon.  He  suspects  a  plain-clothes  man  in  the 
Senator,  here,  since  we  are  talking  friendly  together, 
although  I  can't  guess  what  the  lad's  been  doing.  I 
hope,  nothing.  Maggie  got  him  a  job  with  my  boss,  and 
he  goes  to  work  to-morrow.  I  had  a  talk  with  him  this 
morning,  and  he  promised  all  the  lies  he  could  turn  his 
tongue  to.  But  the  girl's  a  wonder,  and  she  may  re- 
form him.  He  wants  to  attend  the  union  meeting  to- 
night, and  I  told  him  to  come,  as  it  was  public.  Why 
not  ?  If  Maggie's  stirred  ambition  in  the  cub,  I've  hopes 
for  him." 

"Bear  a  good  hand,  Jake,"  said  Dan  Magee,  earnestly. 
''Put  your  influence  on  the  lad,  and  save  a  chance  for 
him.  God  knows,  the  girl  can  put  the  spirit  of  a  white 
man  in  a  nigger  with  that  soft  voice  of  hers.  That  she's 
kept  my  grip  from  his  neck  these  many  days  is  a  miracle, 
as  we  all  know.  She  got  him  to  confession  last  week, 
and  Father  O'Grady  throwed  a  scare  into  him  that  may 
have  helped  him  to  this  job.  Bear  a  hand,  man." 

Marshall  Treemon  listened  to  this  conversation  with 
the  keenest  interest.  He  could  have  but  the  smallest 
understanding  of  its  purport,  but  in  his  present  state  of 
mind  he  was  moved.  The  undercurrent  of  the  great 
East  Side,  that  spoke  for  order,  appealed  to  him  as  a 
good  sign.  Generally,  he  was  a  believer  in  his  fellows. 

"Maggie  has  mentioned  the  matter  herself,  Dan,"  re- 

55 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

joined  Roth,  "all  of  which  goes  level  with  me.  So  far 
as  I  can,  I  will  keep  the  boy  down,  and  work  and  wages 
will  do  the  rest." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  policeman,  moodily.  "I  wish 
I  could  go  over  to-night  if  the  Senator  has  anything  good 
for  the  family,  but  I'm  on  duty  at  the  hall." 

"It's  an  open  meeting  for  free  discussion,"  said  Roth, 
speaking  to  Marshall  Treemon.  "We've  called  off  the 
union  services,  special.  You  may  hear  something  if  you 
can  stay.  You  can  sit  with  the  reporters,  telling  them 
that  you  are  over  here  to  consult  a  client;  that  you 
dropped  in  out  of  curiosity,  because  you  are  my  old 
friend.  They  know  my  standing  well  and  good,  and 
this  will  sound  right.  If  they  make  a  note  of  it  then, 
it  wouldn't  hurt." 

"I  do  not  know  about  Mr.  Beechy,"  said  Marshall 
Treemon,  in  view  of  the  remark  of  Dan  Magee.  "It 
may  be  that  I  am  mistaken.  But  if  it  should  turn  out 
that  he  is  the  person  I  have  in  mind,  I  can  surely  develop 
something  in  his  interest." 

"Praise  the  saints  for  any  luck  that  comes  their  way!" 
ejaculated  Dan  Magee,  with  humorous  emphasis — "pro- 
vided you  can  make  it  skip  the  old  man.  He  is  so  old, 
and  has  lived  here  so  long,  that  I  misdoubt  if  any  one 
could  die  in  Ireland  who  would  leave  him  a  dollar.  As 
for  any  one  dying  here  and  doing  it,  it's  not  to  be  thought 
of.  The  girl's  clean  strain,  for  the  Rooneys  were  good 
people;  and  then  there  was  his  wife,  whose  heart  he 
broke  so  long  ago  that  she  gave  up  and  died  before 
anybody  can  remember.  But  he  did  have  children, 
as  he  often  says,  although  they're  dead  and  forgot- 
ten." 

"The  East  Side  always  connects  a  lawyer  with  a 
legacy  if  he's  above  the  police  court  and  mentions 
business,"  explained  Jacob  Roth,  with  a  laugh.  "It's 
the  Jews  do  it.  Things  happen  to  them." 

56 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Marshall  Treemon  smiled.  He  was  well  content  to 
have  his  visit  so  construed. 

"Come,"  continued  Jacob  Roth.  "I  will  probably 
see  you  in  the  hall,  Dan."  And  with  his  friend  he  moved 
down  Avenue  A  in  the  direction  of  the  street  of  No.  48. 
At  the  corner  they  paused.  A  whistle  from  the  police- 
man made  Jacob  Roth  turn  about,  and  Dan  Magee,  with 
head  erect  and  shoulders  squared,  was  striding  majesti- 
cally along  the  facade  of  the  church  which  fronted  on  his 
beat.  His  helmet  sat  well  above  his  pleasant  features, 
and  his  fingers  were  thrust  in  his  shining  belt ;  he  stepped 
as  though  on  parade. 

"He's  a  fine  man,"  said  Marshall  Treemon,  with  a 
glance  at  him. 

"They  are  all  fine  men,"  answered  Jacob  Roth,  with 
a  laugh.  "Some  of  them  wouldn't  be  policemen  if  they 
had  the  chance  which  you  fellows  deny  them.  But  he's 
looking  his  best  at  this  minute,  because  it's  nature. 
Good-afternoon,  Maggie." 

A  girl  answered  him  with  a  nod  and  a  smile.  Her  hair 
was  light,  her  eyes  were  blue,  and  there  was  red  in  her 
lips  and  cheeks.  Her  teeth  were  bred  of  a  race  to  which 
dentists  were  unknown.  The  spirit  that  looked  through 
her  eyes  from  behind  lips  and  cheek  and  smile  was  born 
of  some  mysterious  source  that  knew  no  guile.  It  spoke 
with  a  force  that  told  a  story  of  its  own.  There  was  no 
beauty  in  that  refined  sense  which  would  appeal  to  a 
man  like  Marshall  Treemon,  except  that  which  spoke 
from  order  and  regularity  in  which  the  spirit  had  set 
itself.  The  face  was  winsome  yet  sad,  and  a  certain 
pride  mingled  with  a  meekness  that  was  at  once  humility 
and  truth.  Her  form,  lithe  and  vigorous,  was  slightly 
over-developed  by  a  necessity  of  early  labor,  but  it  had 
a  free  rhythm  and  dignity  that  was  marked  in  every 
movement  of  her  erect  and  graceful  person. 

Marshall  Treemon  observed  her  closely,  his  interest 
*  57 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

caught  and  held.  Her  garb  was  poor  and  cheap,  but 
draped  with  that  indescribable  taste  with  which  the 
womanly  youth  of  cities  can,  as  if  by  some  magic,  clothe 
itself.  From  the  top  of  her  modest  feather  to  the  curve 
of  her  arched  instep  she  spoke  a  conscious  prettiness 
that  is  at  once  the  envy  and  despair  of  the  more  slothful 
and  luxurious. 

Jacob  Roth  stopped  her. 

"This  is  my  friend,  Maggie,"  he  said,  "of  whom  I 
spoke  to  you  this  morning.  Miss  Rooney,  this  is  Sena- 
tor Treemon.  He  wants  to  see  your  uncle,  as  I  stated. 
He's  a  lawyer,  and  thinks  he's  got  some  business  with 
him,  if  he  turns  out  to  be  the  right  party.  He  'ain't  ex- 
plained it,  but  that's  a  way  lawyers  have.  I  left  it  for 
him  to  tell  himself,  in  case  he  found  it  right." 

Maggie's  teeth  showed  themselves  in  a  smile  that  was 
without  embarrassment.  At  the  restaurant,  whose  pro- 
prietor regarded  her  as  an  ornament  as  well  as  waitress, 
she  met  every  manner  of  man. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you,  sir,"  she  said.  "Uncle  Mike  is 
not  in  the  habit  of  receiving  visitors,  but  a  lawyer  won't 
frighten  him  I  don't  think.  He's  had  enough  of  them 
in  his  time,  which,  praise  Heaven,  has  not  been  recent. 
His  old  age  is  not  very  full  of  trouble,  and  we've  lots  of 
good  friends  who  give  advice  to  keep  him  out  of  mis- 
chief; and  ready  to  help  us,  too,  if  need  be,  with  some- 
thing more  than  that."  And  here  she  looked  at  Jacob 
Roth. 

"Ah!"  ejaculated  that  worthy,  with  a  grunt  from  his 
deep  chest.  "Go  on,  you  blatherer!  Blarney  Dan 
Magee,  or  old  Welloby,  or  some  of  the  others  you  can 
come  it  over  with  your  soft  talk.  You'll  be  getting  me 
to  love  you,  too,  will  you,  you  kitten,  with  your  sly 
underhand  words  for  every  stranger  that  shows  up  on 
the  avenue.  She'd  give  a  good  character  to  the  old 
devil,  her  uncle,  if  she  could  find  any  one  to  believe  her," 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

he  continued,  speaking  to  Marshall  Treemon.  "Come, 
let's  move  on.  Dan  '11  be  coming  over,  and  get  in  trouble 
with  the  roundsman  for  loafing  on  the  corner.  He's 
hitching  at  his  belt  yonder  this  minute." 

They  turned  into  the  narrow  street  towards  her  home. 

"There!"  shouted  Jacob  Roth,  suddenly.  "Keep 
down,  you  little  rascals.  Hit  the  little  loafer,  Pete;  hit 
him  hard,  and  I'll  pay  for  the  stock  on  your  cart." 

' '  Hoop  la !  '  Forever  '  Mag-g-i-ie !  Maggie !  Maggie ! 
Hooray!"  was  shrieked  in  a  chorus  of  sharp  trebles. 
"Maggie  and  a  new  feller!  Where's  Dan?  Police! 
Po-1-i-c-e!" 

A  clustered  and  youthful  mass  precipitated  itself  upon 
the  push-carts  of  the  fruit-venders  at  the  curb.  There 
were  wild  cries,  and  a  succession  of  shrieks  in  which  the 
name  "Maggie!  'Forever'  Mag-g-i-e!"  arose  above  the 
din.  Tattered  hats  were  flung  in  the  air,  and  cries  of 
delight  rang  along  the  buildings.  There  was  a  momen- 
tary appearance  of  anxious  mothers  at  the  abutting 
windows  to  view  the  scene,  when  they  knew  its  import, 
with  curiosity  and  without  alarm.  The  tumult  was 
evidently  a  familiar  one. 

The  girl  paused,  with  a  vexed  embarrassment  that  was 
softened  by  a  smile  about  her  lips.  She  shrank  for  an 
instant  behind  the  burly  figure  of  Jacob  Roth,  with  a 
covert  glance  at  their  companion. 

The  peddlers,  ranged  in  a  protecting  line  before  their 
threatened  wares,  fought  off  the  onslaught,  swearing 
with  foreign  oaths  at  the  successful  few  who  effected  a 
capture.  The  delighted  gamins  danced  an  exultant 
circle  around  the  three. 

"I'll  pay,  you  little  scamps!"  said  Maggie,  twisting 
the  tousled  curls  of  one  who  had  ventured  too  near. 
"Keep  quiet,"  she  admonished,  as  the  youngster  affected 
a  cry  of  pain. 

"I'll  pay,  you  rascals!"  roared  Jacob  Roth,  shaking 

59 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

his  fist  at  the  swarm,  at  which  they  exhibited  no  fear. 
"Get  out!" 

They  hung  back  now,  awed  at  the  appearance  of  the 
stranger. 

"It's  their  way,"  explained  the  girl,  with  a  modest 
glance  at  Marshall  Treemon. 

"Yes,"  muttered  Jacob  Roth.  "And  every  little  vil- 
lain would  go  off  the  dock  for  her  if  they  knew  they'd 
be  fished  out  for  the  morgue  in  consequence.  And 
there's  not  a  mother  in  the  block  would  hold  it  up 
against  her — and  they  foreign  women,  too." 

The  intimation  was  that  "foreign  women"  loved  their 
children  better  than  others.  Marshall  Treemon  had 
read  that  such  could  express  their  emotion  either  for 
grief  or  the  reverse  with  a  vehemence  to  impress  a  man 
like  Roth.  But  "  Forever  "  Maggie  had  a  following  with 
a  meaning  that  he  could  comprehend.  And  he  was  the 
more  impressed  as,  with  the  tumult  subsided,  they  passed 
the  steps  above  the  plumber-shop  and  entered  the  door- 
way of  No.  48. 


CHAPTER  VI 

OLD    MAN   BEECHY 

THEY  paused  on  the  landing  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

"Here  we  are,"  said  Jacob  Roth.  "Maggie  lives  like 
a  queen.  The  elevator  is  out  of  repair,  and  they  are 
fixing  it.  They'll  have  it  done  when  they  put  in  the 
electric  lights.  I  mention  this,  Maggie,  because  Senator 
Treemon  is  from  the  Waldorf." 

"Stuff!"  exclaimed  the  girl.  She  put  her  back  against 
the  door.  "I'll  not  let  you  in  if  you  talk  that  way. 
He's  a  great  tease,  mister." 

"Senator,"  corrected  Jacob. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  said  the  girl,  simply. 

"I'm  not  formidable,"  said  Marshall  Treemon,  with 
a  laugh.  "I'm  a  very  plain  person,  as  you  will  find. 
Out  West,  where  I  come  from,  and  where  Jacob  comes 
from,  we  try  to  be  ordinary,  sensible  people.  I  think  I 
understand  Jacob." 

She  opened  the  door,  and  they  entered. 

The  home  which  sheltered  "Forever"  Maggie  was  a 
third-floor-back,consisting  of  one  large  chamber,  a  kitchen, 
and  three  small  abutting  cubby-like  places  which  afforded 
sleeping-quarters.  The  largest  of  these  the  girl  kept  for 
herself.  The  worker  of  the  family  must  at  least  have 
the  facilities  for  slumber.  The  large  chamber,  which 
like  the  hall  without  disclosed  remnants  of  the  former 
dignity  of  the  house,  was  the  dining-room,  assembly- 
room,  the  visitors'  apartment,  and,  generally,  the  select 
apartment  of  the  suite.  These  quarters,  in  this  locality, 

61 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

were  real  quarters  of  pretension,  for  Maggie,  as  Marshall 
Treemon  was  subsequently  to  learn,  earned  a  sum  of 
money  that  entitled  her  to  respect.  Her  weekly  wages, 
with  tips,  were  said  to  aggregate  as  much  as  eighteen 
dollars  in  a  single  week.  When  visitors  were  present  to 
interfere  with  the  domestic  arrangements  of  the  place, 
the  family  table  was  prepared  in  the  kitchen.  Marshall 
Treemon  was  surprised  at  the  neatness  of  the  place. 
The  floors  were  bare,  and  the  walls  scant  of  adornment 
beyond  a  few  modest  prints,  the  furniture  being  of  the 
cheapest;  but  the  whole  spoke  an  order  and  cleanliness 
that  were  impressive  when  it  was  known  that  two  of  its 
occupants  were  an  intemperate  old  man  and  a  youth  of 
doubtful  habits.  He  was  not  in  a  state  of  mind  to  be 
either  critical  or  observant,  especially  of  a  matter  which 
so  recently  he  would  have  deemed  unimportant;  but 
this  place* was  enveloped  by  a  new  atmosphere  in  con- 
nection with  the  girl  he  had  just  met,  and  he  had  now 
reasons  to  regard  her  with  an  interest  that  made  all  her 
surroundings  appeal  to  him. 

Within,  Marshall  Treemon  drew  a  breath  of  singular 
anticipation.  His  perturbation  was  strange  for  one  who 
was  there  in  the  professional  capacity  of  a  lawyer.  Jacob 
Roth  did  not  notice  it,  nor  could  he  know  of  it.  The 
mystery  which  his  friend  could  attach  to  a  person  like 
old  man  Beechy  must  be,  like  the  individual  in  question, 
commonplace  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Maggie  had  ushered  them  into  the  larger  apartment. 
She  did  not  wait  for  any  preliminary  word  of  presenta- 
tion, but  passed  at  once  into  the  kitchen  to  remove  her 
hat.  If  she  possessed  the  curiosity  of  her  sex,  for  the 
time  being  she  suppressed  it,  leaving  to  Jacob  Roth  the 
office  of  making  the  lawyer  known  to  her  uncle. 

Old  man  Beechy  was  present,  waiting  the  coming  of 
the  man  of  whom  Jacob  Roth  had  spoken ;  but  from  his 
demeanor  he  regarded  the  incident  as  of  small  moment. 

62 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

He  sat,  drawn  up  in  h\s  chair  near  the  single  window  at 
back,  his  arm  resting  upon  a  table  and  his  legs  sprawled 
along  the  floor.  His  weazened  face,  furrowed  by  innu- 
merable lines,  was  drawn  up  almost  to  hide  his  small, 
watery  eyes,  and  his  grizzled  hair  protruded  from  under 
the  hat  which  he  had  not  removed.  He  was  a  picture 
of  ignorant  and  unworthy  old  age.  Marshall  Treemon 
looked  at  him  with  a  sudden  feeling  of  repulsion,  being 
eyed  in  return  with  a  stare  of  inquiry  and  hostility.  The 
silence  was  broken  by  Jacob  Roth. 

"That's  old  Beechy,"  he  said,  indifferently,  indicating 
the  slouching  figure  by  a  wave  of  his  hand,  and  finding 
himself  a  chair.  "Sit  down,  Marsh,  and  make  yourself 
comfortable.  If  you  think  you  want  to  talk  to  him,  say 
what  you  please.  He's  used  to  it.  That's  old  Beechy — 
the  derelict  of  Avenue  A." 

"What's  that  you're  calling  me,  Jacob  Roth?"  snarled 
the  old  man.  "You  mind  your  words." 

"Shut  up,"  said  Jacob  Roth.  "My  friend  wants  to 
speak  to  you." 

Old  man  Beechy  turned  his  yellow,  bloodshot  eyes  on 
the  stranger. 

"Yes,  sir,  yes,"  he  said.  " Sit  down,  gentlemen.  I'd 
offer  you  something  to  drink,  but  Maggie  don't  allow  it 
in  the  house.  The  same  being  proper,  I  suppose,  in  these 
days  when  children  run  the  old  folks." 

For  an  instant  Marshall  Treemon's  readiness  deserted 
him.  He  looked  towards  the  door,  beyond  which,  in  the 
kitchen,  he  could  hear  the  movements  of  the  girl,  and 
then  turned  his  gaze  upon  Jacob  Roth.  That  worthy 
was  familiar  with  none  of  the  ethics  of  the  legal  pro- 
fession. This  was  a  consultation  for  which  he  was  re- 
sponsible, and  he  could  think  of  nothing  that  might  be 
said  which  it  would  be  improper  for  him  to  hear.  He 
waited  with  more  expectancy  than  the  old  man  him- 
self. 

63 


PURPLE   AND    HOMESPUN 

Marshall  Treemon's  repulsion  grew.  For  some  strange 
reason  he  changed  color.  His  features  were  deathly  pale, 
then  this  paleness  was  succeeded  by  a  high  flush  that 
mounted  to  his  temples.  He  looked  at  the  abject  figure 
before  him  with  a  shudder  of  disgust,  striving  with  him- 
self, for  a  time,  in  vain.  Finally  he  spoke. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Beechy,"  he  said.  "I  am 
a  lawyer,  and  have  business  with  a  man  of  your  name. 
I  have,  for  some  years,  endeavored  to  find  the  person  in 
whom  I  am  interested,  and  if  you  will  have  the  good- 
ness— " 

"Look  here,  Marshall,"  broke  in  Jacob  Roth,  roughly, 
"don't  waste  time  on  him.  Ask  him  what  you  want, 
and  make  him  answer  you." 

Marshall  Treemon  turned  impatiently,  his  flush  in- 
creased by  anger,  but  old  man  Beechy  was  unmoved  by 
this  outburst.  He  remained  sprawled  in  his  chair,  glow- 
ering at  the  floor. 

"Go  on,"  said  Jacob  Roth.  "Don't  treat  him  like  he 
was  a  human  being." 

Marshall  Treemon  mastered  his  unusual  emotion,  and 
continued,  surprised  at  the  awkward  fashion  in  which 
words  came  to  him: 

"You  were  born  in  Ireland,  of  course,  Mr.  Beechy?" 
he  said. 

"I  was  that.  Sure,  sir,  I  was.  Sixty-eight  years  ago, 
come  December.  What  sort  of  a  question  is  it  for  a 
lawyer?  I  didn't  vote  there.  He!  he!  They  don't  vote 
in  Ireland — do  they,  Mr.  Roth  ?  He !  he !  But  I  vote  here, 
gents — I  vote  regular.  I  votes  each  election,  regular." 

"Did  you  marry  there?" 

"No,  gents.  That  is — I  married  here.  A  good  wom- 
an, gents.  Man  and  boy  I  married  right  here  in  this 
community.  But  she's  dead,  gents.  Believe  me,  she's 
dead  and  gone  these  many  years.  That  poor  woman  is 
with  the  saints." 

64 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Old  man  Beechy  sniffled.  He  looked  first  at  Roth 
and  then  at  his  new  visitor,  fishing  a  dirty  handkerchief 
from  his  pocket  and  applying  it  to  his  eyes. 

"You  had  children,  as  I  have  heard,  Mr.  Beechy?" 

"I  had  two  children,  your  honor  —  two  bright  little 
babies,  sir.  But  they  are  dead,  likewise;  dead  and 
buried  here  in  New  York.  It  was  so  when  I  came  back 
from  the  war.  My  poor  wife  did  not  say  much.  We 
men  that  went  out  and  fought  didn't  find  things  at 
home  like  we  left  them.  I  enlisted  early,  your  honor, 
and  when  I  came  back  the  children  was  dead.  I  had 
trouble  to  find  my  wife,  gents.  She  made  her  living 
here  in  a  laundry,  and  when  I  got  back  she  was  alone. 
We  took  up  again  until  she  died." 

"He  didn't  enlist,"  said  Jacob  Roth.    "He  was  drafted." 

"That's  a  lie!"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  straightening 
up.  "That's  an  English  lie,  Jacob  Roth.  It  was  told 
with  the  other  things,  the  time  my  pension  was  de- 
feated. I  enlisted,  and  I  know — you're  here  about  that 
pension." 

"If  you  are  entitled  to  a  pension  you  shall  have  it, 
Mr.  Beechy,"  said  Marshall  Treemon.  "Do  you  know 
of  any  records  that  have  to  do  with  the  death  of  your 
children  or  their  burial?  Or,  if  you  can  give  me  dates, 
I  can  have  such  facts  looked  up  if  I  deem  them  nec- 
essary for  my  purpose." 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  my  pension?"  cried  the 
old  man.  "What  do  I  know  about  dates,  these  years 
back  ?  I  fought  just  as  well  as  if  I  didn't  have  no  chil- 
dren, didn't  I?  I  was  a  poor  man,  gents.  I  had  a 
hard  time  to  get  work  and  bread." 

"And  drink,"  said  Jacob  Roth. 

"Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  glancing  at  him  defiantly, 
"and  drink;  that's  been  a  hard  job  with  me  ever  since." 

Marshall  Treemon  hesitated  an  instant,  and  then 
spoke  slowly: 

65 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"What  was  your  wife's  name,  Mr.  Beechy?" 

"Her  name  was  Anna,  your  honor.  Anna  Terhune, 
gents.  Speaking  of  burials,  gents,  I  did  the  best  I  could 
for  them.  Certainly  the  neighbors  helped.  But  you 
don't  reflect  on  a  poor  man,  your  honor,  and  one  that  en- 
listed and  fought?  Irishmen  ain't  drafted,  are  they? 
I  ask  you  that?" 

It  seemed  to  Jacob  Roth  that  Marshall  Treemon  had 
experienced  a  sense  of  relief.  There  was  a  sudden  dif- 
ference in  his  voice  and  manner. 

"It  isn't  likely  you  would  mistake  your  wife's  name, 
Mr.  Beechy,  or  that  you  would  fail  to  know  as  to  the 
death  and  burial  of  both  your  children?  I  understand 
there  were  two — a  boy  and  a  girl." 

"That's  right,  your  honor.  Of  course  I  ain't  mistaken. 
I'm  a  poor  man,  but  I've  got  some  pride.  A  man  don't 
make  mistakes  of  that  kind.  This  is  about  my  pension, 
gents?  It's  that,  ain't  it,  Mr.  Roth?" 

"I  may  be  of  service  to  you,  Mr.  Beechy,"  replied 
Marshall  Treemon,  slowly,  Jacob  Roth  remaining  si- 
lent. "I  have  something  more  to  learn — something  of 
which  I  wish  to  assure  myself.  I  shall  make  haste 
with  my  investigation.  Perhaps  my  friend  Roth  can 
help  me  —  at  least,  I  shall  talk  with  him  on  the  sub- 
ject." 

"What  can  he  do?"  asked  the  old  man,  with  con- 
tempt. "Only  tell  lies  that  will  hurt  me  and  Maggie, 
your  honor.  Don't  you  trust  Jacob  Roth,  sir."  And  he 
shook  his  finger  angrily  at  the  iron-worker. 

"Get  through,  Marsh,"  said  Jacob  Roth,  slowly. 
"This  old  rascal  has  nothing  for  you.  Shut  up,"  he 
growled,  as  the  old  man  essayed  to  speak  again.  "We'll 
give  you  enough  to  go  out  and  get  drunk  on  if  you 
won't  come  back  to-night." 

"You  shall  hear  from  me  in  some  manner,  Mr.  Beechy," 
said  Marshall  Treemon,  speaking  still  to  the  old  man. 

66 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"For  the  present  I  require  no  more.     I  am  going  now, 
Roth— I  thank  you." 

He  rose  and  stood,  as  it  seemed  to  Jacob  Roth,  un- 
steadily. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Marshall?"  he  asked, 
quickly.  "Are  you  ill?" 

Marshall  Treernon  sat  down  with  a  laugh. 

"No,"  he  replied.  "I  am  not  ill.  I  suddenly — re- 
membered something." 

"Well,  forget  it,"  said  Jacob  Roth,  jocosely.  "You 
promised  to  put  in  the  evening  with  me  and  make  the 
visit  count.  Maggie's  out  there  throwing  together  a  bite, 
so  we'll  go  over  to  the  Cafe*  Boulevard  for  dinner." 

Marshall  Treemon  nodded  his  assent,  and  old  man 
Beechy  leaned  forward  eagerly. 

"I'll  see  you  again,  your  honor,  won't  I?  I'd  like  to 
show  you  the  boy.  You've  seen  the  girl,  my  niece,  but 
the  boy  is  the  lad  for  you.  He's  been  in  the  ring,  your 
honor,  twice.  He  whipped  Duffy's  boy  in  three  rounds, 
and  he'll  make  a  fortune  in  the  business  when  he  comes 
of  age.  But  till  then  it's  the  pension  will  help  us.  And 
Roth  there  will  tell  you  how  the  girl  works." 

"And  how  you  don't — and  never  have,  and  won't, 
you  old  reprobate,"  laughed  Jacob. 

"Don't  mind  him,  your  honor,"  said  old  man  Beechy, 
rising,  his  voice  diminishing  to  a  whine.  "They're  the 
same  to  me  as  my  own  flesh  and  blood,  which  they  are, 
and  I'd  work  fast  enough  but  for  my  wounds  and  my 
health  and  my  misfortunes.  Tell  him  of  my  misfort- 
unes, Roth." 

"Never  mind,  Mr.  Beechy,"  said  Marshall,  in  a  sooth- 
ing voice,  his  demeanor  changed.  "I  shall  see  that  this 
visit  is  not  without  results." 

"Thank  you  kindly,  your  honor.  And  remember,  it's 
a  lie  about  my  being  drafted.  Mr.  Roth  will  take  that 
back,  won't  you,  Jake  Roth?" 

67 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Marshall  Treemon  glanced,  about  him,  and  then  put 
his  hand  in  his  breast-pocket.  He  was  tempted  to  offer 
the  old  man  some  money,  but  Jacob  Roth  noticed  the 
gesture  and  shook  his  head.  Old  man  Beechy  noticed 
it  also,  and  broke  out,  angrily: 

"That  ain't  kindly  in  you,  Jacob  Roth!"  he  cried. 
"This  pension  has  been  owing  me  for  years." 

"Never  mind,"  said  Jacob  Roth.  "If  it  will  ease 
your  old  mind,  I'll  take  back  what  I  said.  I  didn't 
mean  it,  anyway,  you  old  fool.  Come  on,  Marshall.  If 
this  call  has  miscarried,  the  rest  of  the  evening  sha'n't. 
For  old  time's  sake,  you've  got  to  make  an  evening  of 
it  with  me." 

Marshall  Treemon  smiled  indulgently.  His  spirits  had 
strangely  risen.  "  Forever  "  Maggie  now  came  in  from 
the  next  room. 

"Are  you  through,  gentlemen?"  she  asked. 

"For  the  present,  Maggie,"  replied  Jacob.  "Senator 
Treemon  is  going  to  get  your  uncle  a  pension.  It  seems 
that  he  isn't  the  right  man,  and  isn't  entitled  to  it;  but 
that  doesn't  make  any  difference  to  a  senator  and  the 
party  in  power." 

Maggie  shook  her  head.  She  did  not  understand,  but 
she  knew  Jacob  Roth  had  said  something  about  politics, 
and  this  wasn't  worth  understanding. 

"We  have  discussed  the  question  of  a  pension,"  said 
Marshall  Treemon,  after  a  pause.  "I  am  not  certain  as 
to  the  identity  of  your  uncle  with  the  person  I  had  in 
mind.  But  I  sha'n't  let  this  visit  count  for  nothing." 

She  nodded  smilingly.  It  was  the  business  of  the 
men — something  that  Jacob  Roth  had  in  mind.  As  she 
expected  nothing,  she  was  not  greatly  interested. 

"Rose  Letcher  will  be  here  after  supper,  Mr.  Roth," 
she  said.  "I  promised  to  go  with  her  to  the  hall.  If 
you  get  through  with  your  friend  in  time  you  might  come 
by  for  us.  The  meeting  doesn't  begin  until  eight." 

68 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Jacob  Roth  stopped  abruptly.  He  looked  first  at  the 
girl  and  then  at  his  companion,  standing  for  some  sec- 
onds in  an  attitude  of  irresolution. 

"The  Senator  is  my  guest,"  he  said,  after  he  had  re- 
flected. "We  are  going  over  for  a  bite  to  the  Cafe" 
Boulevard.  We  will  be  back  shortly.  Tell  Rose  we'll 
call  and  walk  over  to  the  hall  together." 

"I'll  keep  her  here,  then, until  you  come  back,"  replied 
the  girl,  following  them  into  the  hall.  "Mind  the  steps." 

She  looked  after  them  down  the  stairs,  giving  another 
word  of  caution,  for  the  interior  had  grown  dark,  return- 
ing to  her  apartment  as  they  emerged  into  the  open  air. 

It  was  yet  light  outside  as  they  went  up  the  narrow 
street  in  the  direction  of  the  restaurant. 

"So  Beechy  wasn't  the  fellow  you  wanted?"  said 
Roth. 

Marshall  Treemon  had  lapsed  into  his  strange  mood, 
and  was  gloomy  again. 

"I  wish  I  could  think  so." 

"Hello!  what's  this?"  exclaimed  Jacob  Roth,  stopping 
in  surprise.  "You  ask  me  to  find  this  fellow;  you  have 
looked  for  him  for  a  long  time;  you  say  he  is  not  the 
man,  and  then  you  regret  that  he  is.  I  don't  under- 
stand this." 

"It's  a  lawyer's  matter,  old  friend.  It's  not  strange 
that  you  should  not  understand  it,  and  again,  these 
things  are  not  always  ours.  There's  a  good  deal  of 
tragedy  about  it,  as  there  seems  to  have  been  a  good 
deal  of  tragedy  about  the  old  man's  life.  What  a 
wretched  creature  he  is,  and  what  a  wretched  existence 
he  has  had!" 

"Think  about  the  girl,"  said  Jacob.  "Never  mind  the 
old  man.  It's  too  late  to  pity  him.  He's  past  it.  But 
the  girl  has  fought  a  fight  that  a  strong  man  might  envy. 
I  know  that  she's  got  close  to  my  heart.  There's  noth- 
ing I  wouldn't  do  for  her." 

69 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"How  old  are  you,  Jacob?"  asked  Marshall  Treemon, 
rousing  himself  to  a  suggestion  of  humor. 

"Bah!  I  wouldn't  think  of  'Forever*  Maggie  in  any 
way  other  than  as  a  daughter.  She's  Dan  Magee's  girl — 
the  policeman  we  met.  What  about  old  man  Beechy?" 

Marshall  Treemon  shook  his  head. 

"I  shall  have  more  inquiry  made  regarding  him. 
Strange!  I  looked  up  this  vicinity  for  him  some  years 
ago.  My  agents  should  have  found  a  character  like 
this." 

"They  were  no  good  or  they'd  have  done  it,"  re- 
turned Jacob  Roth.  "Some  years  ago  was  probably 
when  the  old  man  wasn't  here,  but  they  should  have 
found  out  about  it,  anyway.  He  was  shanghaied  six 
years  back,  and  carried  off  to  China.  That's  what  he 
called  his  'misfortune.'  He  was  found  drunk  with  some 
sailors  down  on  Front  Street,  and  they  made  it  all  night 
with  him.  It  took  him  two  years  to  get  back.  I  guess 
the  whiskey  in  the  Orient  agreed  with  him." 

"That  may  have  been  the  reason,"  said  Marshall  Tree- 
mon, musingly. 

"That  must  have  been  the  reason,"  laughed  Roth. 
"His  absence  gave  Maggie  her  chance,  and  when  the 
old  man  got  back  she  had  got  beyond  him.  She  had 
grown  up  from  a  helpless  little  girl  into  a  young  woman 
who  could  care  for  herself.  She  took  the  old  man  in, 
and  gave  him  food  and  shelter,  but  he  doesn't  beat  her 
any  more.  This  time  you  may  have  better  luck.  It 
can't  be  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  find  out  all  about  a 
fellow  like  him  if  there's  anything  in  it." 

Marshall  Treemon  assented,  and  then  changed  the 
subject.  It  was  easy  for  him  to  divert  the  mind  of  his 
simple  friend.  He  spoke  of  their  youth,  and  went  back 
to  their  days  in  Monmouth.  Jacob  Roth  was  a  good 
host,  and  in  spite  of  his  prejudices  had  a  certain  pride  in 
this  communion  with  his  old  associate.  Reaching  the 

70 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

restaurant,  the  Cafe  Boulevard,  a  famous  place  in  the 
neighborhood,  they  entered,  and  found  a  quiet  table  in 
a  secluded  corner.  Here  they  dined  at  their  leisure, 
and,  the  meal  finished,  they  lighted  their  cigars  and 
strolled  back.  Marshall  Treemon  took  a  new  interest  in 
the  throng  about  them,  which  filled  the  streets  with 
strange  figures.  On  their  way  they  passed  the  doors 
of  the  building  about  which  the  crowd  was  heaviest. 

"That's  the  hall,"  said  Roth,  pointing  with  his  finger. 
"The  union  gave  up  its  regular  meeting  night  for  a  free- 
for-all  society  that  does  this  function  Maggie  referred  to. 
We'll  only  walk  over  with  the  girls,  if  you  don't  mind. 
It  won't  excite  remark." 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  my  respectability,"  laughed  Mar- 
shall Treemon,  "nor  do  I  feel  any  sense  of  political  peril 
which  comes  to  me  from  my  contact  with  the  great  East 
Side.  I  shall  rather  enjoy  the  freedom  of  mixing  with  a 
new  sort  of  Opposition,  if  it  is  as  outspoken  as  you  make 
your  own.  As  for  the  girls,  if  the  lady  designated  as 
Rose  is  as  much  to  be  commended  as  this  attractive 
young  woman  Maggie,  I  can  defend  an  evening  in  their 
company." 

"I'm  glad  you  have  such  good  sense,"  rejoined 
Jacob,  with  a  change  of  manner.  "You  will  see  Rose 
shortly,  and  then  you  can  judge  for  yourself.  I  wish 
you  could  judge  for  me." 

Marshall  Treemon  looked  at  him. 

"Perhaps  I  can,"  he  said. 

"No,"  returned  Jacob  Roth,  trudging  straight  for- 
ward, "you  can't.  Nobody  can  do  that.  Rose  Letcher 
is  an  enigma — one  of  those  things  you  can't  find  out. 
I've  known  her  about  ten  years,  I  guess.  She  must 
have  been,  then,  about  Maggie 'sage — say,  twenty.  She 
worked  in  a  millinery  establishment  on  Third  Avenue, 
then  taught  a  little  school  of  better-class  store  people's 
children  among  the  richer  Jews,  and  afterwards  she 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

wrote  for  the  socialist  papers.  All  the  time  she  studied, 
studied,  studied!  She  worked  herself  pale  and  thin, 
and  read  herself  to  a  shadow.  Then  she  taught  in  a 
woman's  gymnasium,  and  recovered  her  health;  now 
she  writes  again  for  the  socialist  papers,  and  lectures 
on  the  East  Side,  to  the  socialists  of  the  New  Jersey 
towns,  and  sometimes  as  far  West  as  Chicago.  But  prin- 
cipally her  home  is  here,  and  I'm  bound  to  say  that 
her  presence  keeps  me  here,  too.  We  agree  on  all  things. 
We  love  '  Forever '  Maggie,  and  hate  the  rest  of  the  hu- 
man race." 

"That's  a  terrible  confession,"  said  Marshall  Treemon, 
laughing.  "You've  said  so  many  good  things  about  the 
young  woman,  it's  too  bad  to  wind  up  like  that." 

"No;  but  she's  a  good  deal  of  a  cynic,  and  anything 
she  is,  I  am.  Really,  she's  a  good  young  woman,  and 
I  know  she's  a  good-looking  young  woman.  But  you'll 
not  understand  her." 

Marshall  Treemon  didn't  think  he  would  care  to, 
there  being  no  room  at  present  in  his  mind.  They  walk- 
ed on  in  silence,  and,  reaching  No.  48,  they  entered  as 
before.  Maggie  Rooney  opened  the  door  for  them  on  the 
landing. 

"Come  in,"  she  said,  "there's  company." 

Upon  entering,  Marshall  Treemon  was  slightly  abashed. 
Matthew  Durgan  rose  to  greet  him,  presenting  his  wife, 
a  diffident  and  retiring  young  woman,  slightly  pretty, 
but  red  of  cheek  and  attractive,  in  the  robust  health  and 
strength  of  the  happy  Irish  race.  Old  man  Beechy  was 
gone,  and  in  his  chair  sat  a  tall,  slender  man  dressed  in 
black.  He  rose  also,  a  person  of  bushy  hair,  the  lower  por- 
tion of  his  lean  face  covered  by  a  growth  of  whiskers  that 
fell  far  down  upon  his  breast,  silky,  oiled,  and  glistening, 
cared  for  evidently  with  tender  solicitude  and  pride. 
He  was  probably  forty  years  of  age,  quiet,  polite  after 
the  manner  of  the  southeastern  European,  his  mask  of 

72 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

a  face  suggesting  the  student  and  philosopher.  He  was 
introduced  as  Professor  Nathan  Frank. 

Then  Jacob  Roth  paused  impressively  and  with  pride, 
speaking  the  name  of  Rose  Letcher.  Marshall  Treemon 
had  observed  her  first,  "  Forever  "  Maggie  going  to  her 
side,  and  standing  with  her  arm  about  her.  She  regarded 
him  intently,  and  her  gaze  continued,  direct  and  un- 
abashed. He  was  surprised  to  find  that  she  immediately 
interested  him,  and  that  this  interest  grew. 

"Get  chairs,  Maggie,"  said  Jacob  Roth,  and  the  girl, 
leaving  Rose  Letcher's  side,  set  them  about.  "Sit  down, 
Marsh.  We  have  a  little  time  before  we  go  over  to  the 
hall.  Miss  Letcher  will  be  glad  to  know  a  senator  who 
is  the  real  thing — no  make-believe,  no  shoddy,  but  a 
genuine  United  States  fellow,  who  is  mentioned  in  the 
papers,  and  in  these  antislavery  days  has  got  the  pluto- 
cratic collar  around  his  neck,  if  we  could  only  see  it. 
It's  better  than  a  show." 

6 


CHAPTER  VII 

ROSE    LETCHER 

MARSHALL  TREEMON,  the  friend  of  the  President,  the 
friend  of  Victoria  Wemyss,  the  orderly  and  conventional 
man  of  the  Washington  exclusive  circle,  seated  himself 
with  a  renewed  wonder  at  the  strange  surroundings  to 
which  this  adventure  had  introduced  him.  He  was  a 
man  of  the  West,  a  man  of  affairs,  a  politician,  and  one 
of  many  experiences,  but  this  had  the  charm  of  novelty. 
He  was  not  in  a  position  to  reason  about  the  chain  of 
events  that  had  brought  it  about ;  but  he  could  care  for 
his  dignity  all  the  while,  and  so  he  was  tranquil  in  his 
mind.  He  thought  of  the  abyss  between  his  daily  life 
and  this  which  he  now  surveyed,  but  he  was  glad  enough 
to  cross  it.  After  all,  his  conventionality  was  but  skin 
deep,  and  his  country  was  democratic.  The  East  Side 
was  as  much  a  fact  as  his  own  Western  State.  These 
were  people  of  so  distinctively  a  different  sphere  that  they 
seemed  to  him  as  almost  of  another  world.  But,  after 
all,  he  had  once  been  a  farmer's  boy  and  a  post-office 
clerk,  and  his  country  had  possessed  several  presidents 
whose  beginnings  were  even  more  humble.  Behind  his 
thoughts  was  a  remembrance  of  his  mission,  and  a  sense 
of  wonder  at  the  strangeness  of  life.  He  sat  in  silence, 
sensible  of  the  curious  eyes  upon  him,  while  Jacob  Roth 
explained  the  meaning  of  his  presence.  The  iron-worker, 
in  his  own  behalf,  was  making  a  sharp  distinction  between 
the  dual  characters  which  his  friend  represented.  There 
were  two  Marshall  Treemons — one  a  senator  and  the 

74 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

other  a  lawyer,  and  a  third  individuality  antedating 
both,  which  Jacob  Roth  had  known  as  a  boy.  While  he 
was  glad  to  entertain  the  politician,  his  apology  for  doing 
so  was  because  of  the  calling  of  his  friend  as  an  attorney. 

"It  is  the  Senator  that  I  am  glad  to  meet,"  said  Rose 
Letcher,  when  Jacob  Roth  had  finished.  "Lawyers  are 
of  all  kinds.  They  look  miserably  like  other  men,  and 
act  like  them,  too.  They  cluster  all  about  the  Criminal 
Court's  building,  they  throng  Centre  Street,  and  live  to 
make  trouble  for  the  world.  But  senators  of  the  gov- 
erning party  are  different.  They  are  just  the  persons 
who  ought  to  know  us  closely.  The  pity  of  it  is  that 
their  opportunities  to  do  so  are  so  rare." 

She  spoke  with  a  ringing,  metallic  voice  that  was  clear 
and  penetrating,  but  which  Marshall  Treemon  thought 
could  have  been  musical.  She  held  him  with  her  im- 
pressive eyes,  which  were  as  black  and  as  sharp  as  those 
of  her  companion,  the  foreign  Professor — Marshall  Tree- 
mon did  not  know  of  what  he  was  a  professor,  nor  did 
he  care ;  Miss  Letcher  at  present  engrossed  his  attention. 
Her  hair  was  black,  also,  and  of  a  hue  so  deep  that 
from  the  coiled  masses  above  her  forehead  it  gave  back 
a  gleam  of  jet.  Her  narrow,  oval  face  was  sallow, 
without  a  trace  of  color,  but  her  lips  were  red,  as 
though  she  had  painted  them,  and  her  teeth  shone 
through  them,  two  white  and  glistening  rows,  even  and 
regular.  Her  form  was  shapely  and  graceful.  She  im- 
pressed him  as  being  comely,  and  then  the  word  "  beauti- 
ful "  shaped  itself  in  his  thoughts.  But  no;  her  expres- 
sion was  too  intense,  and  her  eyes  were  like  coals  of  fire. 
There  was  an  impression  of  hardness,  of  which  one  be- 
came sensible  immediately  upon  hearing  her  speak.  To 
him  it  seemed  that  both  voice  and  glance  were  alike 
hostile  and  defiant.  Her  personality  suggested  some  mis- 
fortune, or  disappointment,  which  voiced  itself  in  bitter- 
ness and  resentment.  She  was  one  to  fight,  not  to  repine. 

75 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"I  am  one  of  the  new  fellows,"  he  said,  speaking  in  a 
tone  and  seeking  by  his  manner  to  give  an  impression 
of  good  humor  and  fellowship.  "I  am  not  hard  to 
know.  I  don't  believe  any  of  the  senators  are.  I've 
been  in  contact  with  them  for  many  years,  and  find  them 
very  common  clay." 

"That's  it,"  she  replied,  sharply.  "That's  true,  and 
they  forget  it.  We  are  not  afraid  of  you,"  she  continued, 
laughing.  "I  didn't  speak  in  that  sense.  But  you 
ought  to  seek  us.  Knowledge  may  avert  peril,  you 
know." 

"I  could  never  associate  peril  with  you,  Miss  Letcher," 
he  said. 

"Couldn't  you?"  And  she  laughed  again,  scornfully, 
her  manner  so  significant  that  the  others  noticed  it  and 
laughed,  too.  "Now,  that  is  not  gallant,  Senator,  to 
a  woman." 

He  blushed  and  felt  uncomfortable,  annoyed  to  find 
that  in  such  surroundings  he  could  be  so.  She  was 
chaffing  him.  But  he  recovered  speedily. 

"I  spoke  only  in  a  political  sense — never  in  any  other," 
he  rejoined.  "In  another  sense,  the  peril  is  only  too 
obvious." 

"That's  better,"  she  said. 

"Thank  you."  And  he  nodded,  with  a  smile.  "Mr. 
Roth  told  me  that  you  were  a  public  lecturer." 

He  looked  at  her  as  he  spoke,  and  at  the  cool,  black- 
whiskered,  sharp-faced  man,  who  was  silent,  near  her. 
A  cynical  smile  seemed  to  make  the  black  whiskers  quiver 
about  the  mouth,  and  a  light  gleamed  in  the  eyes  shaded 
by  bushy  brows.  He,  Marshall  Treemon,  was  on  ex- 
hibition. He  was  making  a  gala  -  night  for  the  East 
Side,  with  his  person  and  his  title  up  for  the  amusement 
of  some  arch-socialists  or  anarchists.  Doubtless  these 
people  were,  as  Jacob  Roth  said,  leaders  of  such  a  clique. 
He  felt  a  distinct  impression  of  combat.  He  was  in  the 

76 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

camp  of  the  enemy,  but  the  nature  of  the  antagonism 
he  excited  he  could  not  determine.  He  did  not  care. 
He  had  too  much  dignity  to  be  long  offended,  and  in  a 
moment  he  felt  himself  superior  to  any  annoyance. 

Rose  Letcher,  with  the  quick  intuition  of  a  woman, 
divined  his  state  of  mind.  She  looked  at  the  cool  Pro- 
fessor for  a  moment,  and  then  spoke  again. 

"We  belong  to  the  Social  Order  down  here,  Senator 
Treemon,"  she  said.  "We  are  going  to  have  a  meeting 
to-night.  You  will  be  interested  if  you  will  come." 

"He'll  come,"  said  Jacob  Roth.  "I  mean  to  bring 
him." 

"A  socialist  meeting?"  asked  Marshall  Treemon. 

"That's  it,"  said  Matthew  Durgan.  "They're  going 
to  talk  it  at  you,  Senator.  They  eat  it  down  here." 

"How  is  it  that  you  are  not  with  them,  Mr.  Durgan?" 
asked  Marshall  Treemon,  contracting  his  brows,  his  ques- 
tion put  in  a  tone  of  humorous  reproof. 

"I  happen  to  be  busy  and  reasonably  prosperous,  with 
a  disposition  to  mind  me  business,"  replied  Matthew, 
dryly.  "If  I  had  the  time  and  the  right  way  of  think- 
ing I  might  be  in  the  penitentiary  if  I  liked.  It's  a  mere 
matter  of  choice." 

"The  Irish  are  not  fortunate  in  matters  of  govern- 
ment," observed  the  Professor,  eying  Matthew  without 
resentment. 

"Here  or  at  home,  Professor?"  asked  Mat. 

"That's  the  logic  of  it,"  laughed  Rose  Letcher,  while 
Jacob  Roth  grinned  his  approval.  "The  Irish,  like  all 
people,  do  pretty  well  here,  where  they  have  a  chance." 

"Is  the  movement  a  general  one  on  the  East  Side, 
Professor?"  asked  Marshall  Treemon,  politely. 

"You  would  be  surprised  to  know  how  general,"  was 
the  answer.  "The  East  Side  casts  more  votes  than 
several  States.  The  movement  is  general  all  through 
the  country,  if  you  will  observe  it.  Henry  George  and 

77 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

his  kind  started  it,  and  it  grows  without  restriction. 
Republican  institutions  teach  it — that  is,  democratic  in- 
stitutions." 

"We  shouldn't  object  to  it,  then,"  said  Marshall  Tree- 
mon.  "I  presume  you  oppose  the  trusts  and  find  them 
a  source  of  danger?  That's  the  habit  of  the  Opposition 
now." 

"Not  necessarily."  And  the  answer  made  Marshall 
Treemon  look  up  in  surprise.  "I  don't  oppose  com- 
bination in  tobacco,  whiskey,  or  similar  commodities. 
They  ask  nothing  from  the  people,  and  we  believe  in 
freedom  of  individual  action." 

"Do  you  call  combination  individual  action?" 

"A  partnership  is  not  objected  to — why  a  larger  effort 
in  corporate  form?  We  can  destroy  the  tobacco,  whis- 
key, or  other  similar  combinations  by  simply  refusing  to 
patronize  them.  What  we  object  to  is  the  public-ser- 
vice trust — the  trust  that  does  business  with  a  franchise 
— that  seeks  a  section  of  government  to  do  business 
with — to  compete  with." 

"You  see  that,  don't  you,  Senator?"  asked  Rose 
Letcher.  "Hotels,  stores,  theatres,  and  the  like  may 
combine,  and  welcome;  such  freedom  is  the  freedom  we 
all  wish  to  fight  for.  There  will  be  no  combinations  in 
restraint  of  trade  if  the  public  service  corporations  are 
common.  All  we  want  are  correct  fundamental  rules  or 
laws.  The  people*  are  seeing  this  because  the  new  gen- 
eration is  becoming  educated." 

"That's  a  new  phase  of  socialism  to  me,"  said  Mar- 
shall Treemon. 

"You  can  trust  the  people,"  said  the  Professor.  "You 
must  do  it,  for  there's  nobody  else  to  trust.  The  so- 
cialistic movement  began  when  free  education  was  per- 
mitted. Give  us  rotation  in  office,  free  press,  free  speech, 
free  assembly,  free  schools,  and  a  free  vote,  and  every- 
thing else  will  take  care  of  itself.  I  defy  a  government 

78 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

to  oppress  a  people  so  equipped.  So  I  defy  it  to  stop 
the  spread  of  socialism." 

"Where  do  the  bombs  and  the  loaded  gas-pipes  come 
in,  Professor?"  asked  Mat. 

"The  Irish  throw  them,  my  dear  boy,  when  they  fail 
to  understand  the  purport  of  our  teachings." 

"There  wasn't  an  Irishman  in  the  Haymarket  at 
Chicago,  as  I  read  it,  except  the  dead  ones,  and  they 
wore  uniforms.  Every  man  that  was  hung  had  a  name 
that  an  Irishman  couldn't  pronounce." 

"It  is  the  Haymarket  memory  that  makes  our  local 
prejudice  so  strong  on  this  subject,"  said  Marshall 
Treemon. 

"All  prejudice  is  strong,"  observed  the  Professor. 

Marshall  Treemon  thought  so.  He  began  to  under- 
stand. He  had  fallen  into  the  very  saturnalia  of  politics. 
Here  was  where  his  profession  attained  a  red  heat,  with 
every  passion  behind  it.  The  meeting  promised  some- 
thing. 

"We  don't  blame  the  officers  greatly,"  said  Rose 
Letcher.  "They  find  society  as  it  is,  and  are  simply 
content  to  keep  it  so.  But  they  are  alarmed  at  the  idea 
of  change  when  change  is  a  necessity  of  progress.  We 
are  charged  with  foolish  ideas  about  equality  and  prop- 
erty, when  it  is  obvious  that  such  matters  will  care  for 
themselves  if  we  can  agree  on  good  laws." 

"Really,  Professor,"  said  Marshall  Treemon,  seriously, 
"our  government  is  basic.  We  bestow  no  titles  of  dis- 
tinction, we  have  all  the  privileges  you  have  named,  and 
the  only  power  that  a  man  can  assert  is  the  power  of 
wealth,  which  he  earns." 

"Which  he  earns?"  queried  the  Professor,  blandly, 
with  a  rising  accent. 

"Yes,  sir.  I  don't  see  how  I  could  improve  this  gov- 
ernment, it  I  had  a  free  hand  in  the  matter." 

"I  see,"  said  Rose  Letcher,  her  eyes  sparkling.  "I 

79 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

would  give  the  sewer  systems  of  the  cities  to  private 
corporations,  and  let  them  charge  us  for  tapping  them. 
I  would  let  private  corporations  run  the  water- works, 
and  abolish  the  free  schools,  making  learning  a  source  of 
profit.  I  would  put  the  post-office  system  in  the  hands 
of  a  private  corporation,  as  I  would  also  the  courts.  The 
courts  are  expensive,  and  could  be  privately  adminis- 
tered very  cheaply.  I  would  have  private  corporations 
maintain  both  the  army  and  the  navy — they  do  not  be- 
gin to  compare  with  the  railroads  in  magnitude.  I  would 
even  have  then,  take  charge  of  the  pensions,  and  they 
would  thus  save  us  money,  you  may  be  sure  of  that. 
How  long  would  it  take  them  to  settle  with  the  veterans 
at  a  few  cents  on  the  dollar  ?  Think  of  the  result — work 
for  everybody  then,  with  no  government  at  all.  That 
carries  the  private  corporation  to  the  limit,  and  gets  the 
ultimate  result." 

"There!"  cried  Jacob  Roth,  exultantly.  "There,  you 
have  it!" 

Marshall  Treemon  laughed. 

"I  am  outclassed,  fellow-citizens,"  he  said.  "I  have 
no  one  here  to  aid  me  but  a  poor  exile  of  Erin,  and  he 
seems  to  be  now  under  the  spell.  I  think  I  will  go  to 
your  meeting  and  enjoy  myself." 

"But  I  wouldn't  resign  me  office,  Senator,"  said  Mat. 
"I  think  there'll  be  senators  when  there's  no  professors. 
I  prefer  the  elective  office." 

"No,  you  do  not,"  said  the  Professor.  "You  prefer 
an  appointive  office.  If  you  didn't  have  your  present 
business  you  would  be  a  policeman.  And  I  would  look 
to  see  you  rise,  for  you  would  be  a  good  one." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mat — "thank  you,  kindly.  That's 
the  only  truth  that  I  have  understood  here  to-night." 

"You  see  what  all  this  means  now,  don't  you,  Mar- 
shall?" asked  Jacob  Roth.  "We  don't  want  to  abolish 
Fifth  Avenue;  we  want  to  make  lots  of  Fifth  Avenues. 

80 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

We  don't  want  to  pull  anybody  down;  we  want  a  chance 
to  rise." 

"That  expresses  it,"  said  Rose  Letcher,  with  a  glance 
at  the  speaker.  "The  readjustment  of  social  conditions 
does  not  mean  the  indiscriminate  mixing  of  unworthy 
with  worthy  people.  Nobody  but  the  criminal  ignorant 
dream  of  an  arbitrary  division  of  existing  wealth.  The 
East  Side  people  would  find  as  little  pleasure  in  the  com- 
pany of  Fifth  Avenue  as  the  aristocrats  would  find  with 
them.  We  never  thought  to  confiscate  property  for 
general  distribution.  Anybody  can  see  that  there  would 
be  no  end  of  confiscation,  once  started." 

"This  is  very  interesting,"  said  Marshall  Treemon, 
his  voice  showing  some  impatience,  "but  I  would  be 
grateful,  then,  if  you  would  tell  me,  Miss  Letcher,  what 
socialism  does  mean.  The  doctrines  you  utter  are  en- 
tirely mine.  So  far  as  I  know,  they  are  the  doctrines  of 
all  good  people  everywhere." 

"I  have  already  said  that  the  difference  is  in  funda- 
mentals—  in  method  and  in  sincerity,"  she  answered, 
earnestly.  "The  rich  say  that  we  cannot  all  be  kings. 
'  Who  will  dig  the  ditches,'  they  ask, '  when  we  all  ride  in 
carriages?'  The  offence  of  socialism  is  that  it  denies 
conditions  that  the  rich  deem  necessary.  Yet  every 
American  knows  that  every  human  being  possesses  in 
the  beginning  the  kingly  attributes  of  nothing  at  all — 
absolute  helplessness.  The  socialist  claims  that  at  birth 
one  human  being  is  as  good  as  another,  and  entitled  in 
the  struggle  of  life  to  exactly  the  same  opportunities. 
This  is  where  we  crucify  truth  in  its  denial.  You  say 
it  is  impossible.  I  truly  believe  that  if  the  complacent 
rich  did  not  goad  us,  in  our  poverty,  with  a  denial  of  the 
truth,  that  no  one  would  ever  think  of  violence  or  the 
bomb." 

"You  may  have  observed,  Senator,"  said  Professor 
Frank,  calmly,  "that  servants  are  growing  fewer  in  this 

81 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

country,  raising  one  phase  of  the  question;  and  then, 
strikes  are  on  the  increase,  and  becoming  more  difficult 
to  deal  with.  The  corporation  question  is  helping  out, 
and  driving  things  to  a  focus  at  headlong  speed.  The 
agitation  has  escaped  from  our  humble  hands  and  is 
demoralizing  all  discussion.  Why,  the  crash  may  come 
in  even  our  time,  and  then  the  readjustment  will  begin 
to  grow  out  of  the  wreck." 

"Those  are  sinister  sentences,  sir,"  said  Marshall 
Treemon,  "and  the  word  'wreck'  hasn't  a  pleasant 
sound.  I  am  ready  to  confess  that  you  have  given  me 
something  to  think  about." 

"Glory  for  so  little!"  exclaimed  Jacob  Roth.  "When 
you  have  attended  the  meeting  you  will  have  something 
more  to  think  about.  You've  heard  the  logical  part. 
Come  over  to  a  gathering  and  see  us  get  mad." 

"I  don't  approve  of  mad  people,"  laughed  Marshall 
Treemon,  "and  especially  of  temper  in  an  old  friend. 
Is  Miss  Maggie  a  socialist  also?" 

He  looked  at  the  girl  sitting  quietly  near  the  Pro- 
fessor, with  her  hands  folded  in  her  lap.  She  had  been 
listening  intently  to  the  conversation,  and  Marshall 
Treemon  doubted  if  she  understood  it.  He  felt  now  a 
little  resentful  of  his  company,  and  was  willing  to  shift 
the  talk  into  another  channel.  So  far  it  had  been  tense. 

Rose  Letcher's  eyes  flashed  angrily.  She,  too,  glanced 
at  the  girl,  and  then  her  face  softened. 

"Of  a  different  sort,  my  friend,"  she  said,  with  a  curl 
of  her  lip.  "The  doctrine  of  fidelity  and  kindness  does 
not  involve  political  questions.  Virtue  and  love  belong 
to  a  different  creed.  You  are  not  a  sceptic  there,  Sena- 
tor Treemon,  I  hope?" 

"No,"  he  replied,  somewhat  abashed,  although  he 
scarcely  knew  why,  "I  trust  not,  Miss  Letcher." 

"Politics  are  never  friendly,"  said  "  Forever  "  Maggie, 
speaking  with  a  confidence  that  surprised  Marshall. 

82 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"I  hate  to  hear  them  talked,  although  I  listen.  I  never 
bother  myself  about  them,  to  be  sure.  What's  the  use, 
and  what  do  they  mean  to  a  woman,  I'd  like  to  know? 
I'm  satisfied  with  my  place,  God  knows,  and  if  the  Pro- 
fessor thinks  the  servants  are  getting  scarce  " — and  here 
she  laughed  —  "I  wish  they'd  raise  my  wages  at  the 
restaurant.  Father  O'Grady  says  there's  room  for  us 
all,  and  the  Holy  Mother  was  little  better  here  on  earth. 
We  worship  her  now,  so  what's  the  use  of  disputin'  for 
place  ?  A  nice  dress  on  Sunday  and  an  outing  is  as 
close  as  I  ever  care  to  get  to  Fifth  Avenue." 

Rose  Letcher's  face  was  bitter  again. 

"There's  a  lot  to  fight  for  in  this  life,"  she  said. 

"What's  the  good  of  fighting  at  all,  I  don't  see,"  said 
Maggie.  "I've  said  it  to  Blade  fifty  times.  The  union 
is  always  fighting,  and  Mr.  Roth  is  always  vexed.  The 
Professor  here  is  a  good  man,  none  better,  and  yet 
he's  angry  at  people  he  doesn't  know.  That  can't  be 
good.  I  have  no  trouble.  The  boss  is  pleasant  at  the 
restaurant,  and  every  gentleman  that  comes  in  has  a 
good  word  for  me.  I  think  it's  better  to  smile  and  take 
things  as  they  come.  We  can't  fix  the  world.  The  lit- 
tle I've  seen  of  it  is  mighty  big  to  me." 

"There  is  the  humble  and  gentle  philosophy  that 
power  trades  on,  Senator  Treemon,"  said  Rose  Letcher. 
"Isn't  it  a  noble  ambition  in  a  short  life  to  help  crush 
the  poor?  It's  that  word  'Forever'  in  Maggie's  name 
that  means  so  much  down  here,  which  makes  us  sicken 
at  heart  and  grow  weak  in  the  flesh.  God  pity  us  all 
and  hasten  the  time  when  the  stone  is  rolled  away!" 

Jacob  Roth's  features  contracted  at  this  expression  of 
hers  and  at  the  tone  in  which  she  spoke. 

"Never  mind,"  he  said,  clinching  his  fist.  "Never 
mind,"  he  repeated,  with  an  oath.  "We'll  hasten  the 
time,  and  then — and  then — "  He  stopped,  as  though 
unable  to  find  words. 

83 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"Shut  up,  Mr.  Roth!"  said  Maggie,  rebukingly.  "You're 
not  the  man  to  swear  before  ladies,  and  a  gentleman 
present.  It's  wicked,  anyway,  and  where 's  the  good? 
Who  cares  to  get  mad  at  a  lot  of  talk,  and  everything 
about  inducing  to  pleasure  and  good  feelin's?  Blade's 
got  a  job,  and  you've  promised  to  make  a  man  of  him. 
Uncle  may  get  his  pension,  and  Senator  Treemon  has 
kindly  come  to  see  us,  spending  a  pleasant  evening. 
Ain't  you  thankful  in  your  heart  for  anything?" 

The  iron-worker  coughed,  his  countenance  changing  as 
he  noted  a  smile  in  the  corner  of  Rose  Letcher's  lips. 

"Yes,  Maggie,"  he  said,  laughing.  "I'm  a  big  brute, 
and  it's  time  we  went  over  to  the  hall." 

"Oh,  dear!"  exclaimed  Rose  Letcher,  starting,  and 
looking  at  a  watch  that  was  pinned  to  her  dress,  "I've 
talked  myself  hoarse,  and  it's  the  hour  now." 

"I  have  watched  the  hour,"  said  the  Professor,  calm- 
ly. "I  shall  speak  first,  so  you  will  have  time." 

"Come  on,"  cried  Jacob  Roth,  as  Miss  Letcher  took 
her  hat  from  the  table,  "we'll  be  late!" 

They  went  out  together,  and  the  Professor,  after  wait- 
ing for  an  instant  for  Marshall  Treemon,  who  did  not 
come,  followed  with  Matthew  Durgan  and  his  wife. 
But  Marshall  lingered,  staying  for  Maggie,  who  had  re- 
mained until  the  others  were  gone,  in  order  to  turn  out 
the  gas. 

"I  hope  you  won't  mistake  Rose,  Mr.  Treemon,"  she 
said,  forgetting  the  Senator,  now  that  Jacob  Roth  was 
not  present,  and  thinking  only  of  the  man  near  her, 
whose  face  inspired  her  with  confidence.  "She's  a  love- 
ly woman,  and  kinder-hearted  than  she  talks.  And  she 
wouldn't  be  sharp  with  her  theories  and  such  foolish- 
ness, with  a  gentleman  like  you,  only  it's  her  pride,  you 
know." 

"You  need  not  apologize  for  her,"  laughed  Marshall 
Treemon.  "Indeed,  I  am  very  much  impressed  by  her." 

84 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"Are  you!  I'll  tell  her  so,"  said  Maggie.  "She'll  be 
proud,  for  sure,  in  spite  of  her  fine  talk." 

"I  don't  think  I  would  do  that,"  said  Marshall  Tree- 
mon,  still  amused.  "Pride  troubles  most  of  us,  as  you 
say.  I  often  have  to  curb  it  in  myself.  No,  I  will  not 
mistake  Miss  Letcher." 

"That's  good  of  you,"  said  the  girl.  "And  you  must 
not  mistake  her  at  the  meeting,  either." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    GOSPEL   OF   THE    DAWN 

MARSHALL  TREEMON  went  towards  the  meeting  with 
feelings  of  the  liveliest  curiosity.  He  was  not  impressed 
at  first,  but  the  animated  language  of  Rose  Letcher  had 
tended  to  interest  him  greatly,  and  he  thought  of  the 
bland  and  self-confident  Professor  with  a  half-amused 
smile.  He  was  hopeful  that  the  deliberations  of  this 
progressive  body  might  not  end  in  a  fight,  but  he  was 
by  no  means  certain.  He  had  never  attended  a  social- 
istic gathering,  and  this  looked  promising.  He  laughed 
to  himself  as  he  thought  of  it.  He  had  no  wish  that 
his  friend,  the  President,  should  learn  of  him  as  one  of 
the  group  of  those  rumored  wild-eyed  fanatics  who  met 
for  the  purpose  of  denouncing  the  government  of  the 
United  States  in  particular  and  all  other  goverments  in 
general.  But  the  Professor  looked  placid  enough,  and 
Rose  Letcher,  although  given  to  keen  emotion  and  di- 
rect speech,  was  not  only  attractive,  but  gave  evidences 
of  refinement  and  culture.  Intelligent  she  surely  was. 

On  the  way  to  the  hall  the  Professor  dropped  back 
from  the  others,  and  found  opportunity  for  a  private 
word. 

"I  was  a  Professor  of  Political  Economy  in  Germany 
prior  to  my  coming  to  America,  Senator,"  he  said, 
"hence  my  title.  I  am  to  speak  to-night.  I  beg  you 
will  not  judge  me  too  harshly.  On  the  platform  we  can- 
not be  content  with  the  subtilties — the  tranquillity — of 
which  our  cause  is  capable  in  print  or  personal  debate 

56 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

It  requires  force  to  move  large  bodies.  The  people  must 
be  stirred — aroused.  Therefore,  our  public  utterances 
are  more  radical." 

Marshall  Treemon  readily  promised  not  to  judge  him 
too  harshly,  and  the  Professor  moved  forward  again, 
reassured.  A  few  steps  farther  and  they  overtook  the 
rest  of  the  party.  Jacob  Roth  was  speaking  to  Mat 
Durgan. 

"Yes,  sir.  I  took  him  to  old  man  Beechy,  and  there 
ain't  nothing  in  it  for  nobody.  But  he's  down  for  the 
meeting,  and  that  counts  for  something.  You  heard 
what  Rose  said,  didn't  you?  He'll  take  back  to  the 
Senate  some  language  which  I  hope  he  repeats  to  it." 

They  pressed  forward  through  the  crowd,  which  grew 
denser  as  they  neared  the  hall.  Rose  Letcher  and  the 
Professor  hurried  on  ahead,  but  finding  they  were  in 
time  waited  at  the  doors  for  the  others  to  arrive.  Then 
all  entered  the  hall  together.  The  place,  a  large,  wide, 
stable-like  apartment,  was  packed,  but  the  crowd  was 
thickest  along  the  outer  aisles  and  about  the  entrance. 
A  platform,  furnished  with  a  table  and  some  chairs 
ranged  in  a  semicircle,  most  of  which  were  already  oc- 
cupied by  bearded  and  spectacled  men,  was  reared  at 
one  end,  and  to  this  Professor  Frank  and  Rose  Letcher 
went.  They  were  greeted  eagerly  as  they  ascended  the 
steps,  the  spectacled  men  rising  and  coming  forward  to 
shake  hands  with  them.  They  also  recognized  Jacob 
Roth,  as  his  thick  form  appeared  in  the  aisle  below,  by 
sundry  waves  of  the  hand  and  cordial  nods.  Marshall 
Treemon  was  present  under  distinguished  auspices.  But 
he  was  more  than  content  to  remain  inconspicuous.  He 
found  a  seat  by  Mat  and  Jane  Durgan  well  back  towards 
the  rear,  interested  in  observing  the  faces  on  the  plat- 
form and  the  various  special  figures  that  moved  about 
him  helping  to  compress  the  audience  more  compactly, 
and  exhibiting  that  air  of  importance  and  consequence 

87 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

that  are  seen  in  officers  who  marshal  a  troop.  The 
gathering  of  his  Senate  under  the  imperial  dome  at 
Washington  created  less  stir  and  disturbed  less  atmos- 
phere. "  Forever  "  Maggie  had  seen  her  brother  Blade 
with  some  congenial  spirits  near  the  front,  and  her 
sisterly  heart  had  taken  warning.  Her  own  admonition 
was  generally  sufficient,  for  he  knew  who  carried  the 
purse,  but  in  a  guerilla  company  he  sometimes  rebelled. 
She  sought  the  aid  of  Jacob  Roth,  and  together  they 
took  the  boy  aside  to  threaten  and  cajole.  Dan  Magee 
was  on  duty  without,  and  Maggie  had  reason  to  distrust 
Blade  in  moments  of  assembly  and  excitement.  A  word 
in  time  might  save  trouble. 

Marshall  Treemon  was  surprised  at  the  order  which 
prevailed,  and  the  intelligent  and  respectable  appear- 
ance of  the  crowd.  He  was  surprised  also  at  the  num- 
ber of  women  present.  He  had  imagined  such  gatherings 
in  such  a  place  to  be  a  mixture  of  license  and  lawlessness. 
The  faces  which  predominated  were  foreign,  but  it  was 
a  collection  of  people  that  suggested  sobriety  and  de- 
cency. 

The  proceedings  began  without  ceremony.  Professor 
Frank  stepped  to  the  edge  of  the  platform  and  lifted 
his  hand.  The  assembly  was  all  attention,  and  Marshall 
Treemon  leaned  forward.  But  he  heard  distinctly. 

"Good  people,"  said  the  Professor,  slowly,  and  with 
an  accent  sharp  though  not  unpleasant,  "once  upon  a 
time  two  men,  one  a  small  man  and  the  other  a  tall  man, 
were  wrecked  on  a  desert  island.  The  small  man  was 
wise  and  cunning  and  the  tall  man  was  strong  and 
stupid.  The  small  man  could  not  swim,  while  the  tall 
man  could.  So  the  tall  man  took  the  small  man  upon 
his  shoulders  and  bore  him  safely  to  the  shore,  putting 
him  first  upon  a  ledge  of  rocks  and  then  climbing  after 
him.  When  they  had  recovered  from  their  exertions 
and  looked  about  them,  they  saw  that  there  were  turtle 

88 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

eggs  in  the  sand,  that  the  fish  were  fat  in  the  waters, 
and  that  the  fruits  hung  low  on  the  trees.  It  was  an 
island  of  plenty.  But  both  the  small  man  and  the  tall 
man  had  acquired  a  sense  of  habit,  so  the  small  man  said: 
'My  brother,  we  know  that  in  all  human  relationships, 
where  two  or  more  are  met  together,  some  sort  of  govern- 
ment is  adopted;  man  cannot  live  by  turtle  eggs,  fish, 
and  fruit  alone ;  he  needs  a  little  discipline  for  the  bene- 
fit of  his  soul — or  thinks  he  does.  You  are  larger  than  I, 
and  consequently  will  require  more  turtle  eggs,  fish,  and 
fruit.  You  may,  therefore,  gather  for  both,  and  I  will 
tell  you  how  to  do  it.  This,  as  a  natural  result,  estab- 
lishes the  relationship  of  master  and  servant.  I  will  be 
master  and  you  shall  be  servant.' 

"'No,'  said  the  tall  man,  'I  do  not  like  that.' 

"'Very  well,'  returned  the  small  man.  'I  will  invert 
the  statement;  you  shall  be  servant  and  I  will  be  mas- 
ter.' 

"'No,'  said  the  tall  man,  'I  do  not  like  that.' 

"'Very  good,'  replied  the  small  man.  'I  see  you  are 
not  inclined  to  be  fair.  I  first  landed  on  the  island,  and 
so  possessed  it.  It  became  my  property.  You  followed, 
and  in  consequence  are  an  intruder.  I  am  therefore  king, 
and  you  are  my  subject.' 

"No,"  said  the  tall  man,  'I  do  not  like  that.' 
"You  are  still  unreasonable,'  said  the  small  man, 
'  but  we  will  try  something  else.  We  will  trust  to  chance.' 
He  thereupon  picked  up  two  pebbles,  holding  one  in 
each  hand,  and  placed  them  behind  him.  'Choose,  my 
brother,'  he  said,  'and  if  you  can  select  the  empty  hand, 
I  may  consider  with  you  as  to  who  shall  be  landlord  and 
who  shall  be  tenant.' 

"And  the  tall  man  chose  the  right  hand,  and  the  small 
man  in  triumph  exhibited  the  pebble. 

"'But,'  said  the  tall  man,  'you  had  a  pebble  in  each 
hand;  I  saw  them.' 

7  89 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"You  are  incorrigible,  lawless,  and  rebellious,'  said 
the  small  man,  'and  affront  the  police  power  of  the  sov- 
ereignty of  this  island.' 

"And  therefore,  more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger,  he 
flung  the  pebbles  into  the  eyes  of  the  tall  man  and 
blinded  him  utterly. 

"'My  brother,'  he  then  said,  'since  fate  has  evidently 
decreed  that  you  shall  be  dependent  upon  me,  I  will 
bear  with  your  infirmity  with  gentleness  and  resignation. 
I  shall  show  you  where  to  dig  for  turtle  eggs,  provide 
you  with  fish-lines  for  a  share  of  what  you  catch,  and 
henceforth  allow  you  a  portion  of  all  the  fruit  which  I 
may  permit  you  to  pluck.' 

"The  moral  of  which  is,  good  people,"  continued  the 
Professor,  after  a  slight  pause,  '"Blessed  are  the  meek, 
for  they  shall  inherit  the  earth.'" 

The  audience  was  silent  for  an  instant,  and  then 
broke  forth  in  a  roar  of  applause,  mingled  with  derisive 
laughter.  The  shouts  continued,  and  the  Professor  sat 
down. 

"Now  what  do  you  think  of  that!"  exclaimed  Mat  Dur- 
gan,  in  a  tone  of  disgust,  turning  to  Marshall  Treemon, 
who  had  listened  in  amused  wonder.  "There's  a  nice 
little  Sunday-school  story,  calculated  to  induce  poor  peo- 
ple to  keep  the  peace!  You  heard  the  Professor  up  at 
Maggie's?  He  wouldn't  hurt  a  fly;  he  wouldn't  knock 
a  raindrop  off  his  coat  too  rough.  Yet  he'd  touch  a 
button  and  send  all  Wall  Street  skyward." 

"Yes,"  said  Marshall  Tremon,  amused.  "I  thought 
better  of  the  Professor  than  that." 

"  Really,  but  he's  a  good  man,  sir,  as  Mat  says,"  vent- 
ured Jane  Durgan.  "They  just  like  to  hear  themselves 
talk." 

"That's  it,"  said  Mat.  "They're  too  fond  of  it.  Give 
me  a  gentleman  with  whiskers  and  a  keg  of  beer,  and 
I'll  get  you  up  a  socialist's  meeting  down  here  in  a  half- 

90 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

hour.  Go  to  the  bottom  of  it,  and  it's  the  envy  of  the 
man  that  won't  work  for  what  he  calls  the  luck  of  the 
feller  who  will." 

"He  doesn't  mean  Mr.  Roth,"  said  Jane. 

"No.     I  don't  mean  Jake.     But  it's  most  of  them." 

"Hush!"  said  his  wife,  touching  his  arm.  "Rose  is 
going  to  speak." 

Marshall  Treemon  looked  as  Rose  Letcher  came  for- 
ward. The  tumult  ceased  at  once.  She  came  forward 
confidently,  poising  herself  for  a  moment  on  one  foot 
as  she  stood  beside  the  table  surveying  the  assembly 
coolly.  Her  voice  was  also  clear  and  distinct,  and  Mar- 
shall Treemon  was  surprised  at  its  flutelike  tone.  The 
suggestion  of  refinement  that  had  impressed  him  was 
observed  now  in  her  accent,  the  syllables  of  each  word 
rounded  and  well  spoken.  She  was  heard  readily  in  the 
most  remote  corner  of  the  hall. 

"My  good  men  and  women,"  she  began,  "a  great 
many  years  ago — so  many  years  ago  that  we  need  not 
consider  them — an  old  man  climbed  to  the  top  of  a  high 
mountain  that  looked  into  an  abyss.  He  was  worn  and 
weary,  so  he  sat  down  to  rest.  He  was  thin,  frail,  at- 
tenuated. He  was  bald,  except  for  a  few  scattered  locks 
of  snowy  whiteness  that  hung  about  his  ears  and  strag- 
gled along  his  bony  shoulders,  and  his  shrunken  limbs 
and  lean  arms  and  fingers  were  dull  and  rusty.  His  face 
was  gaunt,  and  only  his  eyes  gleamed  with  the  singular 
vitality  which  sustained  him,  and  these  looked  piercingly 
into  the  gloom.  He  had  wandered  from  a  period  so  dis- 
tant that  he  had  forgotten  it,  and  he  would  wander  al- 
ways, for  he  knew  that  he  would  never  die.  Upon  his 
shoulders  he  carried  a  scythe,  which  was  symbolic,  for 
his  name  was  Father  Time. 

"Resting  his  lean  face  upon  his  shrivelled  hand,  he 
stared  into  the  abyss,  silent,  reflective,  terrible.  And  as 
he  watched  the  ages  rolled  by  and  carried  over  the  ledge 

91 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

the  glory  of  all  the  worlds.  Suns,  moons,  and  stars  end- 
ed their  cycles  and  fell  into  the  gulf. 

"At  last,  from  out  of  nowhere,  there  came  with  the 
current  a  tiny  speck,  an  atom,  a  mote.  It  called  itself 
a  man,  and  carried  a  burden  which  it  hugged  to  its 
breast  as  it  poised  over  the  chasm.  And  Father  Time, 
awakened  from  his  reverie,  spoke  in  pity,  and  said: 

"  '  Put  it  down,  and  rest  here  with  me  for  a  space.' 

"  But  the  man  said,  'No.' 

'"Whence  come  you?'  asked  Father  Time. 

"'I  know  not,'  replied  the  man. 

"  '  Whence  go  you?' 

"'I  know  not,'  said  the  man,  haughtily,  as  he  hugged 
his  burden  closer.  'But  this  I  know — you  are  not  to 
halt  me  or  argue  with  me;  I  have  nothing  to  arbitrate.' 

"And  Old  Time  put  down  his  scythe,  and  put  back 
his  lean  head  and  laughed  until  he  awoke  the  clattering 
echoes  of  eternity.  And  when  he  looked  again  the  man 
was  gone. 

"Nothing  to  arbitrate,  good  people,  in  a  life  that  is 
all  compromise — that  begs  the  question  from  naked 
babyhood  to  senile  age  ?  Nothing  to  arbitrate  in  a  world 
that  is  accented  by  sickness,  pain,  and  death?  Separa- 
tion, hope  deferred,  pride  that  is  a  mockery,  and  reason 
that  refutes  itself!  Nothing  to  arbitrate!  Each  piles 
up  his  little  hill  of  sand  and  leaves  it  for  the  wind  to 
blow  away." 

She  paused.  There  was  no  applause;  but  there  was 
something  better — a  rapt  attention.  Her  voice  had  taken 
that  peculiar  cadence  by  which  an  orator  inflects  his 
words  rhythmically,  his  hearers  swaying  to  and  fro  under 
the  influence  of  its  monotonous  music.  Her  hearers  had 
caught  the  sentiment  of  her  metaphor,  and  listened 
breathlessly.  Marshall  Treemon  was  interested  also. 
She  had  found  her  text,  and  as  she  rose  with  it,  growing 
more  animated  and  reaching  finally  a  contagious  en- 

92 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

thusiasm,  he  was  almost  compelled  to  cheer  himself, 
swayed  further  when  her  language  changed  to  scorn  and 
her  keen  irony  made  a  point. 

He  had  thought  her  an  intelligent  woman  before,  but 
now  he  thought  her  wonderful.  What  experience  had 
ripened  her  youth  to  such  capabilities?  He  did  not 
know  her  age,  but  under  the  fire  and  glow  of  the  moment 
she  looked  a  girl.  To  stand  upon  a  platform  before  these 
dogged  hundreds,  prejudiced,  obtuse,  and  by  hardship, 
suffering,  and  lack  of  opportunity  lethargic  of  mind  and 
thought,  and  sway  them  as  a  unit,  making  each  respond 
to  her  touch,  understand  her,  and  be  convinced  by  her — 
this  was  power!  Himself  an  orator,  Marshall  Treemon 
marvelled  and  grew  grave.  Her  arguments  were  argu- 
ments with  which  he  was  familiar,  but  he  was  not  fa- 
miliar with  the  way  she  made  them.  They  had  to  do 
with  the  arrogance  of  wealth,  the  submissive  simplicity  of 
the  poor,  their  failure  to  know  their  power  in  a  republic, 
and  the  necessity  for  lashing  them  into  knowledge  in 
order  that  they  might  use  it.  She  gave  to  it  all  a  new 
edge,  keen  and  sharp.  She  had  a  current  information 
which  dealt  with  present  men  and  events.  She  had  not 
spared  the  midnight  oil,  and  had  evidently  read  and 
thought  much;  to  which  was  added  a  woman's  natural 
wit,  resource,  and  readiness. 

He  did  not  know  how  long  she  spoke,  perhaps  an 
hour  or  more,  but  when  she  ceased  Marshall  Treemon 
released  his  pent-up  breath  in  a  sigh,  and  smiled  to 
realize  how  closely  he  had  been  held.  His  first  impulse, 
as  he  rose  with  his  friends,  was  to  go  forward  and  join 
the  congratulatory  file  that  pressed  to  the  platform, 
but  a  second  thought  restrained  him.  He  could  see  her 
when  she  had  left  the  building. 

The  crowd  now  poured  from  the  hall,  and,  going  with 
the  two  Durgans,  he  passed  outside  into  the  street. 
Finding  a  quiet  corner,  they  waited  and  watched  the 

93 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

stream  go  by  under  the  lights,  a  motley,  chattering, 
eager  throng.  Mat  Durgan  was  himself  voluble.  He 
noticed  the  quiet  mood  of  his  distinguished  company, 
and  spoke  for  his  entertainment.  It  did  not  matter  that 
Marshall  Treemon  continued  silent  and  reflective,  and 
kept  his  eyes  upon  the  diminishing  crowd.  Mat  had 
been  interested  in  the  discourse,  and  held  views  of  his 
own. 

From  somewhere  in  the  throng  old  man  Beechy  sud- 
denly appeared.  Marshall  Treemon  had  not  noticed  him 
in  the  building,  and  did  not  notice  him  now  until  he  ap- 
proached and  Jane  Durgan  spoke  his  name.  Then  the 
old  man  drew  closer  and  plucked  him  by  the  sleeve. 

"Good  gentleman,"  he  said,  "your  honor  " — and  Mar- 
shall Treemon  shuddered  at  his  whining  and  wheezy 
tone — "I  thought  I  would  find  you  there.  Ah,  a  nice 
place,  with  much  wisdom." 

"What  is  it,  Mr.  Beechy?"  asked  Marshall  Treemon. 

"Your  honor,  I've  been  thinking.  'I'm  to  tell  the 
truth,'  says  I  to  meself, '  since  I'm  to  have  help  about  me 
pension — the  whole  truth,'  says  I.  I  was  married  twice, 
your  honor,  and  it  was  my  first  that  was  named  Anna 
Terhune.  She  was  not  the  mother  of  me  children,  God 
knows;  'twas  me  second.  Me  true  and  lawful  one  was 
Foley — Margaret  Foley." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Beechy." 

The  old  man  looked  up  at  him,  leering. 

"That's  it,  your  honor.  There  was  the  two  children, 
as  I  have  said.  But  the  girl  only  died,  I  guess.  You 
asked  about  the  papers  concerning  them.  I  heard  when 
I  came  back  from  the  war  that  the  boy  was  taken  up 
to  the  Board  of  Charities  when  me  wife  fell  sick.  She 
never  got  him  back.  That  she  told  me  herself,  and  we 
counted  him  dead,  which  as  good  as  dead  he  was  to  us, 
it  being  lucky  so.  But  the  Board  of  Charities  keeps 
dates  and  names,  and  if  a  man  must  be  a  father  to  get 

94 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

his  pension,  you'll  find  something  there.  I'm  no  book- 
keeper meself." 

"Margaret  Foley?"  muttered  Marshall  Treemon,  al- 
most mechanically.  "Well,  I  suspected  it."  And  he 
shook  his  shoulders  as  though  to  arouse  himself.  "I 
couldn't  rid  myself  of  the  impression  that  it  was  so. 
The  Rooneys  and  the  Foleys  and  the  Beechys — melody 
enough  to  raise  a  symphony  of  warning  in  a  man's  mind 
if  it's  alert."  He  spoke  as  to  himself,  and  then  he  laughed 
harshly.  "You  couldn't  think  of  this  in  the  beginning, 
Mr.  Beechy?  Margaret?" 

"Yes,  your  honor.  I  didn't  know  that  it  made  any 
difference  that  I  was  married  twice — or  that  both  these 
good  women  was  dead." 

"It  doesn't,  Mr.  Beechy,"  replied  Marshall  Treemon, 
with  an  effort.  "I  will  see  you  again." 

"You  won't  forget,  now,  your  honor?" 

"No,  I  will  not  forget." 

The  old  man  rolled  away  and  was  lost  in  the  throng, 
and  Marshall  Treemon  pushed  his  hat  back  from  his 
forehead  and  wiped  his  damp  brow.  Great  drops  gath- 
ered thickly  on  it.  The  Durgans  now  stood  quietly  be- 
side him,  Mat  wondering  at  his  change  of  manner,  which 
was  too  apparent  to  pass  unnoticed. 

Jacob  Roth  joined  them. 

"Did  it  pay  you,  Marsh,  old  boy?  Did  you  ever  hear 
such  a  speech  ?  Can  you  make  one  to  equal  it  yourself, 
eh?  We  won't  wait  here  for  them.  Let's  go  over  to 
Mat's,  and  Rose  and  the  Professor  will  follow.  They  are 
still  shaking  hands.  I  left  them  to  find  you." 

"No,  no — I  thank  you,"  said  Marshall.  "I'll  go  now, 
Jacob.  You  will  excuse  me,  old  friend?" 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Jacob  Roth,  exultantly.  "You've 
something  to  think  about,  eh?  We've  taught  you  some- 
thing in  politics,  and  you  don't  want  any  further  dis- 
cussion? You  want  to  get  back  to  the  hotel  and  try 

95 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

and  reconcile  your  conscience  with  your  office.  Ah 
ha!" 

Marshall  Treemon  smiled  faintly  and  with  an  effort. 

"I  confess  to  a  strenuous  evening,"  he  said.  "I've 
seen  enough  of  the  gas-lights  for  the  present.  You  have 
done  your  best  in  my  behalf,  and  I  thank  you  again. 
Good-night,  my  friends." 

"All  right,"  said  Jacob  Roth,  after  a  moment  of  con- 
siderate hesitation,  evidently  anxious  to  join  the  two 
orators  of  the  evening.  "You  can  find  your  way  to  the 
car,  which  is  two  blocks  above,  crossing  Avenue  A?" 

"I  can  find  it,"  answered  Marshall  Treemon.  "Good- 
night." 

He  turned  and  walked  quietly  away,  his  head  bowed. 

Mat  Durgan  stared  at  his  retreating  form. 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  ghost,  Jake?"  he  asked. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  rejoined  the  iron- 
work. :. 

"Well,  your  friend  that  went  away  saw  one." 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  repeated  the  iron- 
worker. 

"He  did — he  saw  a  ghost;  and  I  meself  was  looking." 

"Where?"  laughed  Jacob. 

"Over  there,"  and  Mat  pointed  to  a  bit  of  inky  black- 
ness across  the  street,  where  up  between  two  buildings 
there  was  an  expanse  of  gloom,  deep  and  impenetrable. 
"He  saw  it  there — and  I  saw  him  see  it." 

The  iron- worker  laughed  again,  but  Mat  shook  his  head 
as  they  went  away  together. 


CHAPTER  IX 

VICTORIA     WEMYSS 

WHEN  Victoria  Wemyss  left  America  and  sailed  away 
for  England  she  left  behind  her  everything  relating  to 
Marshall  Treemon.  She  would  have  resented  the  sug- 
gestion that  she  had  left  her  heart  as  well.  That  com- 
fortable organ  was  with  her  as  a  most  literal  British 
truth,  and  was  needed  for  pumping  the  rose  to  her 
dainty  cheeks.  Few  liberties  could  be  taken  with  this 
daughter  of  an  ambassador,  in  a  Pickwickian  or  other 
sense,  although  her  stay  under  the  stars  and  stripes  had 
been  broadening  and  developing,  and,  prolonged,  might 
in  time  have  ripened  her  thoroughly.  But  as  yet, 
within  her  purple  and  cloud-embroidered  sphere,  high, 
narrow,  and  circumscribed,  she  was  haughtily  limited 
and  provincial.  Your  highly  bred  Englishwoman  lacks 
a  refined  and  delicate  sense  of  humor.  She  is  choice, 
chaste,  and  charming,  but  her  delicate  flesh  is  solid,  and 
a  hawk  and  hand-saw  are  to  her  bird  and  implement. 
Her  Shakespeare  knew  this,  and  went  south  for  his 
parti-emotional  heroines,  his  Juliets  and  his  Violas;  but 
he  came  home  again  for  constancy.  The  veins  of  his 
Imogene  flowed  the  ruddiest  Saxon.  Victoria  Wemyss 
had  liked  Marshall  Treemon,  and  she  continued  to  like 
him.  He  was  an  American  to  the  core,  having  acquired 
not  a  scintilla  of  grace  that  was  foreign  nor  any  quality 
that  did  not  belong  to  his  country.  Victoria  was  glad 
of  this,  because  it  constituted  his  attraction.  In  think- 
ing it  over,  she  did  not  recall  any  grace  that  he  lacked 

97 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

or  any  quality  with  which  she  would  have  endowed  him. 
She  did  not  know  of  other  graces  or  qualities  which  other 
men  had,  who  were  of  her  country,  which  would  have 
adorned  him,  and  yet  he  was  different.  She  had  said 
this  before,  and  it  was  a  constant  pleasure  to  repeat  it. 
And  his  merit  and  impossibility  lay  in  the  difference. 
He  was  of  fine  person  and  feature,  graceful,  strong,  and 
attractive.  He  was  cultivated,  deft  of  proper  speech, 
and  she  believed  him  courageous  and  honorable.  What 
more  was  needed  in  a  man  to  appeal  to  a  woman  who 
found  the  total  of  all  this  good  ?  Nothing  but  the  fact 
that  he  was  not  of  her  country  and  her  people.  In  this 
view,  the  ocean  which  she  traversed  was  not  wider  than 
the  gulf  between  them,  because  she  felt  that  he  could  not 
make  himself  of  her  country  and  her  people,  and  she, 
upon  her  part,  could  not  change.  It  was  not  a  ques- 
tion of  individuality;  it  was  a  question  of  environment. 
Their  ways  of  life  were  different.  They  could  feel  the 
magnetism  of  each  other's  presence.  They  might  cul- 
tivate common  ideals.  But  to  live  common  lives  would 
be  for  one  or  the  other  to  undo  all  the  daily  habits  that 
they  had  known  from  the  beginning.  Obviously  it  was 
impossible.  She  had  known  of  marriages  that  had  en- 
dured where  an  American  woman  had  wedded  an  Eng- 
lishman, but  this  was  different  also.  There  the  woman 
had  surrendered,  and  it  was  not  difficult  in  English  eyes 
for  an  alien  woman  so  to  adapt  herself.  But,  while  the 
marriages  had  endured,  she  had  heard  that  the  grooves 
rasped ;  that  the  woman  was  restive  and  the  man  domi- 
nant. Victoria  was  accustomed  to  the  domination  of  the 
man,  knowing  it  as  a  characteristic  of  her  country.  She 
felt  that  she  might  endure  this  at  home,  but  never  in 
America;  and  yet  the  individuality  of  the  American 
wife  had  attracted  her.  She  had  noticed  this,  even 
prior  to  her  coming,  in  London  and  on  the  Continent. 
Her  people  had  scoffed  at  it,  and  yet  it  was  strong  in  its 

98 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

appeal  to  the  feminine  nature.  She  felt  that  a  woman 
so  expressing  it  was  dignified  thereby,  and  now  that  she 
had  seen  it  in  America,  she  carried  back  with  her  a  vivid 
sense  of  satisfaction  that  it  was  so.  The  problem  that 
troubled  Marshall  Treemon  had  troubled  her,  and  she 
had  thought  it  out,  as  he  had.  She  had  settled  it  in  her 
mind,  carrying  it  all  through  her  voyage  and  into  Lon- 
don and  up  to  the  moment.  And  the  moment  found 
her  three  thousand  miles  away,  less  perturbed  perhaps 
in  spirit  than  he,  but  still  remembering  him,  still  think- 
ing of  him,  as  she  stood  in  the  drawing-room  of  Lady 
Mildred  Darrow,  her  father's  sister,  before  a  well-dressed, 
elderly  gentleman,  listening  to  his  congratulations  upon 
her  safe  return  to  England. 

There  was  a  fog  without,  and  some  suggestion  of 
its  chill  penetrated  even  this  well  -  appointed  chamber. 
She  shivered  slightly  in  her  evening  dress,  although 
there  was  a  fire  burning  in  the  grate  at  the  end  of  the 
room.  The  lights  were  burning  also,  in  the  brackets 
along  the  wall  and  in  the  enormous  prism  -  bespangled 
chandelier.  The  incandescent  bulbs  which  had  illu- 
mined all  the  habitations  of  the  wilderness  which  she 
had  so  lately  known  had  not  yet  invaded  this  house  in 
Park  Lane.  Lady  Darrow  shrank  from  innovation  of 
every  kind,  and  received  all  foreign  suggestions  with 
reluctance.  The  electric  light,  a  glaring  invention  of 
the  stranger,  which  to  her  was  synonymous  with  enemy, 
was  undeniably  the  conception  of  an  American.  To 
patriots,  and  the  truly  loyal,  the  essence  of  honest  Brit- 
ish coals  was  sufficient. 

The  elderly  gentleman  was  Sir  William  Dawn,  the 
household's  familiar  friend.  Sir  William  had  dandled  her 
upon  his  knee  when  she  was  a  chit  of  a  girl  and  he  a 
roaring  guardsman  returned  from  some  of  the  outlying 
colonies.  But  Sir  William  roared  no  longer.  He  had 
progressed  quietly  to  that  particular  age  which  wor- 

99 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

shipped  without  ostentation  Victoria's  aunt,  Lady  Dar- 
row,  for  whom  he  waited  with  all  the  patience  of  a 
man  of  British  determination  and  set  habit.  He  car- 
ried about  with  him  a  comfortable  impression  of  white- 
ness in  hair,  eyebrows,  and  mustache,  the  latter  cropped 
close  above  his  well-formed  lips.  His  vests  were  in- 
variably white,  over  a  stomach  of  kindly  proportions. 
Destiny  had  never  exhibited  America  and  its  institu- 
tions to  Sir  William.  In  the  quiet  of  an  easy  London 
existence,  he  was  content  to  learn  of  both  at  the  club. 
They  were  no  longer  a  matter  of  curiosity,  anyway,  for 
hosts  of  their  children  annually  invaded  England  and 
the  Continent  with  drums  and  trumpets.  What  they 
had  not  told  of  themselves  the  Times  and  Punch  had 
told  for  them,  and  Sir  William,  as  a  representative  of 
the  high-class  Englishman,  knew  that  the  Isss  said  about 
the  matter  the  better.  He  thought  Victoria  changed. 
She  certainly  looked  well  under  the  lights,  but  he  noticed 
a  sort  of  weariness  about  her  eyes  which  might  suggest 
the  stress  of  travel. 

"And  your  father,  old  girl?"  he  said,  familiarly.  "I 
hope  he's  well.  Washington  is  said  to  be  pretty  enough. 
An  Englishman  laid  it  off,  I  think,  its  chief  beauty  being 
in  its  arrangement.  A  lot  of  parks,  with  streets  that  run 
into  them,  and  a  lot  of  statuary — bronze  beggars,  born 
there,  but  done  here  and  in  Paris.  A  good  climate,  too, 
in  the  season,  and  no  fog.  Trees,  and  all  that,  a  portion 
resembling  the  vicinity  near  Kensington,  I'm  told." 

"I  was  agreeably  surprised,"  she  answered.  She  won- 
dered how  many  times  she  would  have  to  say  this. 

"Mr.  Cleveland  was  President  once."  And  Sir  William 
was  reflective.  "Quite  a  peremptory  man,  with  sudden 
and  unexpected  tendencies.  Were  he  yet  in  office,  your 
father's  mission  might  experience  difficulty.  Luckily, 
it's  different  now.  When  are  you  going  back?" 

The  question  almost  startled  her.  It  was  a  question 
100 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

she  had  asked  herself  often  during  her  journey  home- 
ward. Was  she  ever  going  back  ? 

She  was  not  called  upon  to  answer  it.  Her  aunt, 
Lady  Darrow,  entered,  nodding  to  Sir  William.  She  was 
fresh  from  the  hands  of  her  maid,  and  looked  younger 
by  some  years  to  the  mind  of  Sir  William,  whatever 
the  impression  might  have  meant. 

"Ah,  Victoria,"  she  said,  "I'm  glad  you  were  down 
to  welcome  Sir  William.  The  guests  will  be  coming 
shortly.  I  hear  carriages  now." 

At  the  door  the  butler  announced  Captain  Travers 
and  Lord  Montague  Paget.  They  entered  and  joined 
the  three,  standing  with  the  ladies,  while  Sir  William 
kept  his  seat.  Lord  Paget  was  a  dapper,  dark  man  of 
about  thirty  years  of  age. 

"Welcome,"  said  Lady  Darrow,  and  Lord  Paget  has- 
tened to  greet  Victoria. 

"Who  is  coming?"  asked  Captain  Travers. 

"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Colby  Littlefield,  of—,"  And  Lady 
Darrow  paused,  looking  at  her  niece. 

"St.  Louis,"  replied  Victoria,  with  a  smile. 

"I  can  never  remember  those  peculiar  American 
places,  although  St.  Louis  is  easy  enough;  but  I  am 
always  afraid  it  will  be  Minnehaha  or  Hiawatha,  or 
something  like  that.  They  have  a  place  called  Minne- 
haha, haven't  they?" 

"Minneapolis,  Minnesota,  and  many  other  things," 
said  .Victoria,  with  a  vivid  recollection  of  the  informa- 
tion imparted  to  her  by  Marshall  Treemon. 

"Oh,  dear!"  exclaimed  her  aunt. 

"St.  Louis — Western  city,"  said  Sir  William.  "Along 
the  line  of  French  exploration.  They  beat  us  there. 
Montreal,  Detroit,  St.  Paul,  St.  Louis,  and  New  Or- 
leans." 

"Nice  people  enough — the  Littlefields,"  said  Lord 
Paget.  "I  met  them  at  the  American  Embassy  recep- 

101 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

tion.  Received  at  court,  and  his  Majesty  talked  apart 
with  old  Littlefield.  Owns  forests,  mines,  and  railroads, 
like  all  Americans." 

"I  know  him,  too,"  said  Sir  William.  "Had  a  yacht 
at  Cowes,  and  received  by  Emperor  William  with  the 
group  that  the  German  court  is  at  pains  to  honor." 

"Strange,"  said  Lord  Paget,  "the  interest  the  Em- 
peror takes  in  people  who  can  have  no  possible  relation 
with  Germany's  political  interests!" 

"Who  said  that?"  asked  Captain  Travers,  with  his 
drawl. 

"An  archbishop,"  laughed  Paget,  good  -  humoredly. 
"I  overheard  him  talking  with  an  American  bishop  at 
the  time.  Quite  a  decent  fellow,  the  American,  and 
looked  as  much  a  churchman  as  though  he  had  been 
bred  at  Oxford." 

"It's  the  gown  in  the  pulpit,  or  the  cloth  outside,  does 
it,"  said  Captain  Travers.  "Let  them  speak,  and  you 
know  them  fast  enough." 

The  butler  drew  aside  the  curtains  from  the  great  doors 
at  the  hall. 

"Mr.  Colby  Littlefield  and  Mrs.  Colby  Littlefield,"  he 
announced. 

"They  come  early,"  muttered  Captain  Travers. 

Lady  Darrow  did  not  go  forward  to  meet  them.  She 
suffered  them  to  find  their  way  down  the  room.  Mr. 
Littlefield  had  cultivated  a  set  of  side-whiskers,  and, 
with  his  clean-shaven  lip,  would  have  looked  almost  Eng- 
lish but  for  his  severe  countenance  and  thin  nostrils. 
His  wife  had  profited  by  many  seasons  of  European 
travel,  and  shared  with  her  husband  a  knowledge  of 
English  drawing-room  amenities.  She  was  not  embar- 
rassed. 

"We  were  speaking  of  you  when  you  were  announced," 
said  Lady  Darrow,  with  a  smile.  "Lord  Paget  met  you 
in  Germany." 

102 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"No,  I  beg  pardon,"  hastily  corrected  that  gentleman. 
"I  said  that  I  had  heard  of  you  at  the  German  court." 

"I  know  the  Emperor,"  said  Mr.  Littlefield,  carelessly. 
"Quite  a  fellow,  too,  although  you  people  don't  like 
him.  We  talked  about  the  Krupp  Gun  Works.  I  told 
him  I  was  thinking  of  establishing  similar  yards  at 
Bethlehem,  Pennsylvania." 

"Pretty  name,"  said  Sir  William.  "Pennsylvania. 
William  Penn — English  Quaker.  Sylvania,  which  means 
glade  or  vale.  Very  pretty." 

"Very  pretty  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Littlefield,  dryly. 
"Anthracite  coal-fields,  good  for  a  thousand  years. 
None  like  them." 

Other  guests  were  now  announced  rapidly,  and  Cap- 
tain Travers,  with  a  gesture  which  she  understood,  sought 
to  beckon  Victoria  to  one  side.  She  affected  not  to  no- 
tice this  at  first;  she  affected  to  misunderstand  him. 
She  was  scarcely  ready,  so  soon  after  her  arrival,  to  take 
up  with  him  the  matter  upon  his  mind,  and  which  was, 
indeed,  upon  her  own.  She  had  seen  him  since  her  re- 
turn, and  welcomed  him,  but  not  alone.  She  preferred 
not  to  be  alone  with  him  until  she  could  compose  her- 
self and  had  recovered  thoroughly  from  the  fatigue  of 
the  journey.  But  he  was  persistent,  and  fearing,  finally, 
that  his  growing  vexation  might  be  observed  and  under- 
stood, she  permitted  him  to  lead  her  away. 

As  they  moved  out  of  the  crowd,  she  placed  her  arm 
within  his,  and  they  walked  together  down  the  room. 
At  the  end,  a  door,  shielded  by  curtains,  led  into  a 
smaller  apartment,  containing  a  writing-desk,  sofa,  and 
some  chairs.  It  was  Lady  Darrow's  study.  They  en- 
tered and  seated  themselves. 

They  were  cousins,  but  of  the  half-blood.  Victoria's 
grandfather  had  been  married  twice. 

She  knew  why  he  had  taken  her  from  the  others.  She 
knew  the  subject  on  which  he  would  speak  and  the 

103 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

manner  in  which  he  would  speak.  She  had  heard  him 
often.  France,  Italy,  and,  later,  America,  had  taught 
her  many  lessons,  and  she  was  no  longer  puzzled  by  the 
diffidence  and  awkwardness  of  the  English  male  when 
he  spoke  of  matters  of  love.  Her  men  were  courageous 
enough  in  the  presence  of  all  save  women.  But  here 
even  her  tried  relationship  would  not  serve  to  set  her 
kinsman  wholly  at  his  ease. 

"It's  jolly  to  see  you  again,"  he  said,  finally.  "We 
missed  you  sadly,  Vic." 

"I  am  glad  you  felt  so,"  she  replied.  She  did  not 
know  why  his  words  grated  on  her.  Their  association 
justified  his  familiarity.  He  was  older  than  he  looked, 
which  was  thirty-seven;  and  yet  there  were  furrows 
about  his  eyes  which  she  had  never  noticed  before,  and 
the  flesh  at  his  nostrils  and  above  his  tawny  mustache 
was  sunken. 

"It  was  natural  enough,"  he  said,  slowly.  "You 
seem  to  have  changed,  Vic,  do  you  know?  You  can't 
have  changed  for  the  worse,  but  you've  changed,  for 
all  that.  We  can't  be  waiting  all  the  time,  now,  do 
you  think?" 

"I  note  the  accent  of  a  question,"  she  said,  with  an 
uneasy  laugh,  "although  it  does  not  call  for  an  answer." 

"But  it  does  call  for  an  answer,  you  know,"  he  said. 
"I  think  it's  time  we  settled  something,  and  that  a  fel- 
low knew  where  he  was.  I've  mentioned  the  matter 
twice  now,  earnestly,  before  you  went  away,  and  you 
put  me  off.  It  isn't  fair,  do  you  know." 

"I  think  it  is  not  fair,"  she  replied,  after  a  moment 
of  soberness.  "You  are  right.  Say  what  you  please, 
and  we'll  have  it  over." 

He  looked  at  her,  almost  frightened  by  her  manner. 

"My  dear  girl — come  now,"  he  stammered.  "Noth- 
ing has  happened?  There  hasn't  anything  happened 
— in  a  blue  uniform,  army  or  navy,  you  know?"  He 

104 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

laughed  at  the  idea,  pulling  at  his  mustache,  a  gesture 
that  now  irritated  her.  "Come,"  he  continued,  "that's 
impossible." 

She  shook  her  head.  She  could  not  but  compare  him 
with  Marshall  Treemon,  remembering  their  last  interview. 

"I  saw  a  lot  of  both,"  she  replied,  "and  all  the  other 
uniforms  that  make  up  the  attaches  at  a  capital  city. 
It's  not  a  blue  one  that  appeals  to  my  fancy,  although 
they  are  worn  well  and  in  good  taste." 

"I'll  respect  them  for  that,"  he  said,  "in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  there's  no  significance  behind  them.  Every- 
body knows  how  jolly  limited  is  the  career  of  a  Yankee 
officer.  What  have  they  to  practise  on  but  the  blessed 
Indians  ?  Yes,  they  have  to  fight  climate  in  the  Philip- 
pines now,  as  we  do  in  India,  but  they're  new  to  it. 
Whatever  their  qualities,  if  you're  not  affected  I'm  con- 
tent." 

She  thought  this  fair  of  him,  and  wondered,  as  she 
listened,  what  her  duty  was.  He  did  not  impress  her  as 
of  old,  and  she  felt  that  she  was  doing  him  an  injustice. 
She  had  long  expected  to  marry  him,  and  she  knew 
that  he  knew  it.  He  was  here,  at  her  side,  after  her  long 
absence,  his  eagerness  upon  his  lips.  It  was  not  a 
winning  eagerness,  and  she  pitied  his  awkwardness. 
She  knew  how  she  felt  within  her  own  heart,  with  her 
destiny  balanced  upon  the  moment.  Upon  this  subject 
he  had  been  always  backward,  while  she  was  cool  and  self- 
possessed.  She  knew  that  there  was  an  intellectual  dif- 
ference between  them,  and  she  believed  that  he  had  felt 
it.  This  made  him  stutter  in  his  speech  and  halt  when  he 
approached  her  on  the  subject  of  love.  But  he  could 
speak  to  her  aunt,  and  he  had  done  so,  as  he  had  spoken 
to  her  father.  She  had  no  right  to  keep  him  waiting, 
in  view  of  all  that  was  understood  between  them.  She 
looked  at  him  steadily  now,  out  of  her  honest  eyes,  be- 
fore which  his  own  shifted  and  fell. 

8  IOS 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"Come,"  she  said,  finally,  laying  her  hand  upon  his 
arm,  "ask  me  when  it  is  to  be." 

He  was  quite  overcome.  With  all  his  guardsman's 
experience,  which  had  to  do  with  every  variety  of  music- 
hall  and  theatre,  which  included  Brighton,  Richmond, 
Ostend,  and  Paris,  he  was  bewildered.  Being  in  earnest, 
he  lacked  the  grace  and  that  charm  of  dignity  which  at 
such  a  moment  makes  the  self-possessed  man  admira- 
ble in  the  eyes  of  even  the  woman  who  would  reject 
him. 

"I  say,  now,  Vic — this  is  too  good  of  you,  old  girl. 
Really — I  do  ask  you.  Make  it  soon." 

"I  should  have  said,  perhaps,  ask  me  if  it  is  to  be," 
she  replied,  looking  at  him  kindly.  "But  that  would 
be  ungenerous,  in  view  of  what's  between  us.  Be  pa- 
tient, cousin.  I  will  name  the  day  soon." 

Something  dawned  on  him.  He  was  not  stupid.  Her 
manner — so  different  from  what  he  had  before  observed 
in  their  moments  of  intercourse  and  confidence — her  gen- 
tle gravity,  that  carried  a  certain  suggestion  of  resigna- 
tion— confused  him. 

"I  say,  Vic,"  he  stuttered,  his  own  embarrassment 
growing  as  she  looked  steadily  at  him,  "this  isn't  in 
keeping,  you  know." 

Her  smile  reassured  him. 

"There's  nothing  hidden  between  us?"  he  went  on. 
"You  haven't  heard  anything  to  my  discredit  ?  It  never 
occurred  to  me  before — but  your  manner  is  deuced  strange 
— and  there  are  rumors." 

"You  dear  old  Algeron,"  she  answered.  "I  under- 
stand you.  You  haven't  changed  for  the  worse,  in  any 
manner;  but  perhaps  I  have.  I  have  heard  no  rumors. 
If  I  had,  I  wouldn't  credit  them.  An  officer  and  a 
guardsman  is  a  match  for  any  English  girl." 

"You  relieve  me,  old  coz,"  he  said.  "I'm  stupid, 
and  all  that;  but  it's  happiness,  you  know.  I've 

106 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

wanted  to  talk  it  out  in  this  way.     But  I  don't  know 
how,  and  all  that.     But  I'm  fond  of  you,  you  know." 

"I  should  be  grateful  for  that,"  she  replied,  gently, 
thinking  that  his  sincerity  marked  the  difference  between 
her  demeanor  and  his  own.  "Let  us  not  go  further," 
she  continued,  rising.  "I  know  they  are  asking  for  me 
without." 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  rising  also.  "I  thank  you  for 
so  much,  Vic.  We'll  fix  the  day  soon,  when  we  speak 
of  this  again.  But  I  say,  now,  you  have  changed — you 
have,  really." 

She  did  not  reply,  and  they  stepped  to  the  door  of 
the  writing-room,  where  Lady  Darrow  met  them.  Lord 
Paget  was  with  her. 

"Where  have  you  been,  you  two?"  questioned  her 
aunt.  "Take  her  instantly,  Paget.  Not  a  word,  ex- 
cept in  apology,  you  selfish  fellow,"  she  continued  to 
her  nephew.  "You  are  not  to  speak  to  her  again  to- 
night." 

Captain  Travers  hung  back  disconsolately,  while  Lord 
Paget  bore  away  his  prize,  Lady  Darrow  following. 
The  crowd  of  the  large  room  engulfed  them,  and  Cap- 
tain Travers  sauntered  over  to  where  Mr.  Littlefield 
stood  talking  to  a  small,  fleshy  gentleman  who  was  the 
head  of  a  noted  bank.  He  was  Bernard  Weiss,  a  Jewish 
financier,  in  repute  as  a  man  who  knew  American  se- 
curities. Captain  Travers  lingered  near  him,  looking 
at  the  various  faces  of  the  assembly.  The  black  figures 
of  the  men  were  intermingled  with  the  white  dresses 
and  whiter  shoulders  of  the  women,  standing  apart  and 
conversing  in  groups. 

"I  am  returning  at  once,"  said  Mr.  Littlefield  to  his 
companion.  "I  had  a  cable  to-day.  We  are  arranging 
a  consolidation  of  some  roads  of  which  the  Midland 
Central  is  one.  I  am  in  the  directorate,  and  know  how 
you  are  interested." 

107 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Captain  Travers  did  not  hear  the  banker's  reply.  Sir 
William  Dawn  approached  and  spoke  to  him. 

"Come  in  here,  lad,"  and  he  led  the  way  into  the 
writing-room.  "I've  been  talking  with  Mrs.  Littlefield," 
said  Sir  William,  seating  himself  upon  the  sofa,  and 
pulling  the  Captain  down  beside  him.  "She  made  some 
statements  that  induced  me  to  draw  her  out.  You  know 
I  can  draw  people  out,  dear  boy." 

Captain  Travers  knew  it,  and  was  not  interested. 
The  manner  of  Sir  William  was  impressive,  but  it  was 
always  impressive.  Captain  Travers  had  Victoria  on 
his  mind. 

"Since  Lady  Barrow's  niece  is  the  subject  of  con- 
gratulations upon  her  return,  it  has  occurred  to  Mrs. 
Littlefield  that  she  also  had  relatives — a  niece,  too,  it 
seems.  These  Americans  must  start  somewhere,  and 
the  Little  fields  started,  as  we  may  expect,  somewhere 
near  the  bottom.  They  are  proud  of  that,  though. 
Mrs.  Littlefield  seems  to  have  become  interested  in 
genealogy  in  some  way  (I  don't  exactly  understand  it), 
and  thinks  she  has  English  connections.  She  doesn't 
know  the  significance  of  this;  but  since  she  mentioned 
the  matter,  I  do.  This  English  relative,  this  niece  she 
has  learned  about,  was  named  Letcher." 

Captain  Travers  was  no  longer  indifferent.  He  pulled 
at  his  tawny  mustache  and  looked  at  Sir  William  fixedly. 
He  stuttered: 

' '  What — the — devil — are — you — talking — about — that 
— for?"  he  said. 

"She  has  employed  a  firm  of  solicitors  to  write  over 
the  country,  and  a  person  to  go  through  the  libraries, 
the  records,  and  such  things,"  continued  Sir  William, 
unmoved.  "And  somebody  having  married  somebody 
else,  they  have  come  down  to  Howard  Letcher,  who  had 
a  daughter  named  Rose.  It  seems  that  Mrs.  Professor 
Letcher,  as  she  puts  it,  married  a  sister  of  Mrs.  Little- 

108 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

field.  I  didn't  learn  how  Mrs.  Littlefield's  sister  got  to 
England  or  Germany,  or  wherever  Letcher  married  her, 
but  it  occurred  in  some  way." 

Captain  Travers  eyed  him  still,  his  face  growing  long- 
er and  more  gloomy.  He  continued  to  pull  at  his  mus- 
tache, a  gesture  that  would  have  interested  Victoria 
now,  and  perhaps  revolted  her.  The  guardsman  looked 
vulgar. 

"Confound  them!"  he  exclaimed.  "What  do  you 
think  of  it?" 

"I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  it,"  replied  Sir  Will- 
iam. "My  reason  for  telling  you,  dear  boy.  I  thought 
we  were  all  through  with  that  sort  of  thing." 

"Confound  them!"  repeated  Captain  Travers.  "I 
heard  old  Littlefield  say  just  now  to  Bernard  Weiss 
that  he  was  going  back  to  America." 

"That  wouldn't  interfere  or  help  in  any  way,"  said 
the  Baronet.  "Didn't  Rose  go  to  America?" 

"You  know  as  well  as  I."  And  the  Captain  looked 
at  him  sullenly.  "I  wish  she  had  gone  to  Australia.  I 
thought  you  arranged  for  that." 

"I  did  everything  I  could  for  you,  lad.  My  friend- 
ship for  your  family  justified  it.  America  was  as  good 
a  place  as  any  at  that  time." 

"It's  ten  years,  isn't  it?"  observed  the  Captain, 
slowly. 

"Long  enough,  perhaps,  to  embarrass  them  as  to 
any  facts  relating  to  you"  replied  Sir  William.  "But 
that  won't  prevent  them  learning  of  any  connection  be- 
tween themselves  and  the  Letchers.  They  seem  to  have 
already  done  that.  But  who  knows?  The  girl  may 
have  married  or  died;  at  all  events,  she  may  have  got 
over  her  temper.  She  ought  not  to  be  too  prompt  now 
to  make  trouble  about  you." 

"She  was  ready  enough  before,"  muttered  the  Cap- 
tain, gloomily. 

109 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"We  couldn't  interfere  with  the  investigation  in  any 
way  ?"  suggested  Sir  William.  "No,  I  think  not.  These 
Americans  are  a  determined  set,  and  suggestions  might 
raise  suspicion.  We  had  better  hope  for  the  best." 

"They  wouldn't  make  a  scandal  of  it,  at  all  events," 
said  the  Captain.  "Why  should  they?" 

"That's  what  I  don't  know,"  replied  Sir  William. 
"They  make  so  many  useless  scandals,  and  do  such 
singular  things,  that  we  can't  estimate  them  properly. 
The  whole  difficulty  lay  in  the  girl's  temper.  If  she 
had  been  reasonable,  now." 

"Which  she  wasn't,"  said  Captain  Travers,  rising. 
"I'll  think  it  over,  old  friend,  and  if  occasion  serves  I 
may  call  on  your  diplomacy  again." 

"Going?" 

"Yes.  You  should  have  told  me,  of  course;  but  it 
doesn't  conduce  to  cheerfulness.  Good-night." 

And  Captain  Travers,  scarcely  staying  to  make  a 
proper  excuse  to  Lady  Darrow,  and  without  seeing  Vic- 
toria again,  immediately  left  the  house. 


CHAPTER  X 

CAPTAIN   TRAVERS 

IT  was  well  understood  in  the  vicinity  of  Park  Lane 
that  Victoria  Wemyss  was  to  marry  Captain  Travers. 
This  did  not  meet  the  approval  of  certain  mothers  who 
had  in  view  the  approval  of  certain  younger  sons, 
and  it  did  not  meet  the  approval  of  various  younger 
sons  themselves.  It  did  not  meet  the  approval  of  Lord 
Paget,  but  he  fancied  himself  powerless  in  the  premises. 
It  was  improbable  that  Lord  Francis  Wemyss  would 
marry  again,  and  yet,  despite  his  years,  he  was  regarded 
as  in  the  danger  zone,  being  in  America.  Years  were 
thought  to  be  no  bar  between  the  American  ambition 
for  a  title  and  the  ingenuity  and  energy  of  certain 
women  who  would  like  to  wear  it.  In  this  sense  it  had 
been  felt  that  Victoria's  journey  to  Washington  was  pro- 
tective; that  her  presence  and  influence  would  operate 
to  hold  in  check  any  too  impulsive  ladies  with  matri- 
monial designs  on  her  father.  But  even  should  Lord 
Wemyss  marry,  no  contingency  might  occur  to  deprive 
Captain  Travers  of  the  title,  and  while  St.  Wemyss 
Towers  might  yet  be  his,  it  was  without  a  rent-roll,  and 
was  a  burden.  Lord  Wemyss  had  money,  but  it  was 
derived  from  his  life  interest  in  the  estate  of  his  wife, 
the  remainder  of  which  was  to  Victoria.  His  title  had  en- 
abled him  to  sustain  his  peerage  and  its  few  mortgaged 
acres  in  a  marriage  with  the  daughter  of  a  rich  Liver- 
pool brewer.  Captain  Travers  might  do  likewise  when 
he  should  come  into  his  inheritance,  but  Victoria,  al- 

iii 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

ready  rich,  offered  everything  in  the  beginning.  With- 
out indicating  the  reason  therefor,  society  generally 
thought  him  more  fortunate  than  he  deserved.  Al- 
though possessed  of  a  town-house,  since  the  death  of  her 
mother  Victoria  had  made  her  home  with  Lady  Darrow 
when  in  the  city,  and  Captain  Travers  had  a  warm  ad- 
vocate in  his  aunt.  Here,  too,  with  Lady  Darrow, 
Victoria  was  certain  of  an  inheritance.  It  was  another 
incentive  to  the  guardsman,  who  was  wise  in  his  years 
and  his  day.  He  was  impatient,  too,  but  he  dared  not 
show  it.  With  Victoria  he  was  not  at  his  ease,  for  she 
had  moods  and  temperament,  and  often  said  things  that 
puzzled  him.  He  was  not  quick  at  repartee,  and  it  was 
whispered  that  in  his  earlier  days  he  had  made  some 
social  history.  This  was  but  rumor,  and  the  stories 
shaped  themselves  into  no  definite  accusation;  but  cer- 
tainly in  his  youth  the  Captain  had  been  wild.  He  yet 
lived  the  life  of  a  single  man,  but  he  lived  it  without 
scandal.  London  is  lenient  to  a  guardsman  who  is  un- 
attached, and  it  was  also  understood  that  between  him- 
self and  Victoria  there  was  no  definite  engagement. 
Lady  Darrow  had  said  as  much;  but  she  had  also  ex- 
pressed her  hopes  and  the  clearly  understood  wishes  of 
Lord  Wemyss.  It  was  not  expected  that  Victoria  would 
be  either  indifferent  or  obstinate. 

In  his  lodgings,  upon  the  morning  following  the  re- 
ception at  Lady  Darrow's,  Captain  Travers  waited  for 
Sir  William  Dawn.  His  eyes  were  bloodshot,  indicating 
a  restless  night,  and  new  wrinkles  appeared  about  their 
corners.  He  was  unshaven  and  in  his  dressing-gown. 
Much  to  his  vexation,  Lord  Paget  came  first.  He  was 
bright  and  cheerful,  excellent  in  health,  and  happy  in 
the  memory  of  a  pleasant  evening.  Travers'  temper  at 
this  period  of  the  day  was  never  certain,  but  Paget  paid 
little  heed  to  his  surly  greeting. 

"Lady  Vic  was  lovely  last  night,"  he  said.     "What 

112 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

a  dear  girl  she  is!  Mrs.  Little  field  fell  quite  in  love  with 
her.  They  found  a  common  topic  in  her  Washington 
experience.  It  seems  that  the  Little  fields  have  been 
accumulating  money,  but  have  no  prearranged  plan  for 
getting  rid  of  it." 

"There's  the  hospitals,  the  libraries,  the  colleges,  and 
all  that,"  growled  Captain  Travers.  "Littlefield  can 
follow  the  example  set  for  him  by  lots  of  his  silly  com- 
patriots. What  do  Americans  make  money  for,  any- 
how?" 

"I  have  wondered  myself,"  returned  Paget,  innocent- 
ly. "They  did  have  a  college  in  view,  Mrs.  Littlefield 
told  me,  until  something  better  turned  up.  And  I'm 
going  to  look  it  up,  too.  Mrs.  Littlefield  suggested  that 
she  would  soon  have  a  niece  for  me.  Jolly  free  and 
easy  that — but  with  millions!  A  duke  has  done  worse. 
Delightful,  young — " 

Captain  Travers  interrupted  him  with  an  oath. 

"What  are  you  talking  about  ?     She's  thirty,  at  least." 

"Why,  my  dear  fellow — " 

"Were  you  speaking  of  Mrs.  Littlefield?" 

"My  dear  boy!     She's  fifty,  at  any  odds." 

Captain  Travers  waved  his  hand. 

"Go  on,"  he  said.     "I  didn  t  understand." 

"I  say  —  you're  queer  this  morning,  old  fellow.  It 
was  a  joke.  Mrs.  Littlefield  doesn't  know  the  girl  her- 
self, having  but  lately  learned  of  the  relationship.  But 
she  says  that  Littlefield  is  delighted  with  the  idea  of 
having  some  one  in  prospect  to  look  after,  and  if  the  girl 
lacks  anything  they'll  give  her  a  chance,  and  all  that. 
They  speak  very  freely  about  such  things,  these  Ameri- 
cans, but  Mrs.  Littlefield  is  a  sincere  person.  Perhaps, 
because  she's  so  rich,  she  doesn't  think  it  worth  while  to 
be  guarded  and  discreet,  and  all  that;  and  why  should 
she?  But  they  invited  me  over  to  Newport.  That 
wasn't  a  joke,  and,  by  Jove!  I  think  I'll  go." 

"3 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"They've  had  a  surfeit  of  us  over  there  already,"  said 
Travers.  "You'll  make  no  sensation.  They've  had  a 
Russian  grand-duke,  and  an  Italian  duke  who  is  cousin 
to  the  King — two  of  our  fellows  have  married  there,  and 
Prince  Henry  of  Prussia  visited  Newport  for  a  season. 
You'll  find  them  spoiled." 

"Remember  that  I'm  poor,  dear  fellow,"  laughed 
Paget.  "I  haven't  your  expectations.  With  the  raw 
material  at  home  all  spoken  for,  our  best  outlook  is 
America.  India,  the  Australias,  and  Canada  are  barren, 
and  Egypt  is  off  colo  and  yet  in  the  harem  age.  This 
indefinite  niece,  if  she  turns  up  at  all,  will  turn  up  an 
heiress." 

Captain  Travers  uttered  a  groan. 

"Will  you  never  be  sensible,  Paget?"  he  said. 

"I  say,  old  fellow,  you're  in  a  most  amiable  mood 
this  morning,"  replied  Paget.  "Call  your  man,  and 
let's  get  ready  for  a  walk  in  the  air." 

The  man  in  question  announced  Sir  William  Dawn, 
and  the  Baronet  entered,  white  of  vest  and  hair.  He 
was  imposing,  with  his  gloves,  his  silk  hat,  and  his  gold- 
headed  cane. 

"Good-morning,  Paget.  You  look  as  fresh  as  a  prim- 
rose," was  his  greeting.  He  felt  as  fresh  as  a  primrose 
himself.  "Quite  a  contrast  to  Travers,"  he  continued, 
"who  has  evidently  made  an  unsatisfactory  break- 
fast." 

"You  are  showing  the  effect  of  the  air  yourself,  Sir 
William,"  said  the  younger  man.  "But  I've  forestalled 
you  in  your  news." 

"What's  that ?"  inquired  Travers,  looking  up  anxious- 
ly, regarding  first  one  and  then  the  other. 

"I  haven't  told  you  yet,"  said  Lord  Paget.  "I  was 
speaking  only  of  my  chance.  Lady  Darrow  and  Lady 
Vic  are  going  to  cut  Park  Lane  for  the  present,  and  go 
down  to  the  Towers  for  a  season  of  quiet." 

114 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"And,  to  give  zest  to  that  statement,"  added  Sir 
William,  dryly,  "the  Littlefields  are  going  with  them." 

Captain  Travers  listened  in  angry  amazement. 

"Can  any  one  guess  what  for?"  he  asked. 

"They  confess,  if  confession  is  needed,"  laughed  Paget, 
at  his  manner.  "Lady  Darrow  thinks  Miss  Wemyss 
needs  rest,  and  old  Littlefield  is  going  back  to  the 
States." 

"Yes,"  supplemented  Sir  William.  "Mrs.  Littlefield 
seems  to  have  touched  something  in  Victoria  and  to 
have  won  suddenly  with  Lady  Darrow.  They  were 
speaking  of  charities,  and  Lady  Darrow  mentioned  some 
of  her  favorite  benefices.  Mrs.  Littlefield  instantly  ask- 
ed to  be  allowed  to  contribute,  which  was  sufficient  for 
Lady  Darrow.  'To  which?'  she  asked,  with  her  delight- 
ful manner.  'To  all  of  them,'  answered  Mrs.  Littlefield. 
Lady  Darrow  was,  of  course,  charmed.  She  instantly 
made  it  up  that  they  would  do  a  season  of  penance,  so 
to  speak,  in  the  country,  and  arrange  a  kind  of  cam- 
paign among  the  especial  poor  which  Lady  Darrow 
affects." 

"Littlefield's  contemplated  absence  makes  this  all 
right,"  said  Paget.  "I'm  invited,  too,  and  Sir  William. 
I  didn't  learn  who  else,  but  of  course  there'll  be  enough." 

"It  is  a  little  late,  but  we  may  have  a  good  time," 
said  Sir  William,  with  a  significant  glance  at  Travers. 
"I  take  it  that  Mrs.  Littlefield  is  susceptible  to  advances. 
One  might  influence  her  greatly  if  she  liked  that  one." 

"She  said  she  liked  me,"  said  Paget,  with  a  laugh. 
"I  found  her  pleasant  enough." 

"Littlefield  is  an  able  man,  after  all,"  observed  Trav- 
ers, slowly.  "The  Germans  seldom  mistake  character." 

"Tell  that  to  his  wife,"  replied  Paget.  "She'll  like 
you  fast  enough.  She  thinks  him  the  greatest  man  on 
earth,  because,  I  presume,  he  doesn't  limit  her  in  the 
matter  of  money." 

"5 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"He  was  good  enough  to  mention  an  investment  to 
me,"  said  Sir  William.  "He  spoke  of  it  himself.  That 
was  friendly.  He  informed  me  that  his  Majesty's  in- 
vestments were  very  lucrative,  which  confirms  a  sus- 
picion we  have  always  had  in  this  respect." 

Captain  Travers  was  thinking,  but  his  spirits  were 
visibly  rising.  He  took  a  cigar  from  the  table,  and  bit 
its  end  off  viciously. 

"They  are  consolidating  some  railroads,"  went  on  Sir 
William  —  "the  Midland  Central  for  one,  the  shares  of 
which  are  paying  largely.  They  are  to  make  a  flotation 
here  of  some  additional  securities,  and  he's  to  get  me  in 
on  what  he  calls  the  first  floor." 

"Ground  floor,"  corrected  Paget. 

"The  first  floor  is  the  ground  floor,"  said  Sir  William, 
mildly.  "They're  going  to  tunnel  somewheres,  and 
bridge  something,  and  the  union  of  the  lines  prevents 
competition.  They've  an  arrangement  with  some  other 
company  for  low  iron,  and  all  that,  and  they  pay  for 
much  of  it  by  giving  the  company  special  secret  rates 
in  return.  They  are  sharp,  sly  fellows,  these  Americans, 
and  know  business." 

Captain  Travers  had  called  his  man,  and  was  now 
rapidly  putting  his  attire  in  order. 

"I'm  going  over  to  my  aunt's,"  he  said.  "I  want  to 
see  Victoria  this  morning,  anyway.  You  will  ride  with 
me,  Sir  William,  won't  you?  I've  a  private  word,  you 
know." 

Lord  Paget  took  his  hat  at  this,  but  waited  to  go  with 
them  down  the  stairs.  Captain  Travers  having  com- 
pleted his  toilet,  they  descended  to  the  street  together. 
Sir  William  hailed  a  cab,  and,  waiting  only  for  a  final 
word  with  Paget,  they  were  whirled  away  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Park  Lane. 

"You  had  a  bad  night,"  said  Sir  William. 

"Naturally,"  was  the  gloomy  response.     "That  girl  is 
116 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

on  my  nerves  again.  Strange  that  we  cannot  live  down 
these  spectres — that  they  constantly  rise  to  torment  us!" 

"That  is  a  characteristic  of  spectres,  as  I've  learned 
them,"  laughed  Sir  William.  "And,  thinking  it  over, 
I've  concluded  that  that's  what  we're  dealing  in." 

"Certainly.  I  reached  the  same  conclusion  myself, 
after  a  night  of  thought;  but  I'm  sensitive,  nevertheless. 
I  didn't  treat  her  badly,  considering  who  she  was." 

"You  treated  her  jolly  well,  lad.     I  told  her  so." 

"Jolly  well,  as  she  was,"  said  the  Captain.  "The 
family  was  respectable  enough,  but  we  can't  marry 
down  in  that  quarter,  you  know." 

"I  never  blamed  you  greatly  on  that  score,"  said  Sir 
William.  "I  wouldn't  blame  you  at  all — but  it's  un- 
fortunate in  this  later  aspect.  Let  us  see — Letcher  was 
some  sort  of  professor,  wasn't  he?" 

"Some  sort  of  educational  man,"  said  Captain  Travers. 
"Jewish  extraction,  I  think,  which  accounted  for  the 
unreasonableness  and  fury  of  the  girl.  She  had  a  sort 
of  pride  in  her  race  or  religion,  which  she  said  had  been 
outraged.  I  pitied  her,  until  she  went  off  her  head  and 
said  things;  and  a  fellow  must  think  of  himself,  you 
know." 

Sir  William  remembered  that  Captain  Travers  had 
thought  entirely  of  himself,  but  his  traditional  prejudice 
was  with  the  man  he  had  aided.  He  congratulated  him- 
self on  the  friendly  part  he  had  played  in  the  affair,  as- 
sisting the  honor  of  the  family  as  he  saw  it,  and  thereby 
doing  a  covert  service  to  Lady  Darrow. 

Captain  Algeron  Travers  did  not  think  himself  a  man 
of  bad  heart,  and,  judged  by  the  standards  of  his  asso- 
ciates and  friends,  he  would  have  passed  muster  as  a 
general  good-fellow.  The  fact  that  he  had  a  conscience 
that  was  occasionally  eruptive  was  considered  by  him  as 
an  indication  of  latent  and  active  virtue ;  and  as  he  grew 
older  this  view  rose  in  his  esteem,  and  he  believed  his 

117 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

symptoms  of  regret  a  matter  of  penance  which  would 
atone  for  an  experience  of  his  younger  days. 

This  was  a  fortunate  state  of  mind,  of  great  value  to 
him,  now  that  his  destiny  approached  a  climax  with 
Victoria,  and  might  justly  account  for  his  temper  and 
dissatisfaction  when  his  memory  of  the  annoying  ex- 
perience was  refreshed. 

While  stationed  with  his  regiment  at  Bath  some  eleven 
years  before,  he  had  met  upon  the  streets  of  the  city 
a  slim  girl  with  black  hair  and  shining  eyes.  She  was 
of  the  lower  middle  class,  and  was  employed  in  a  book 
and  paper  shop  near  the  quarters  of  the  soldiers,  where 
she  waited  upon  customers,  helped  her  employer  with 
his  books,  and  did  generally  those  hundred  small  duties 
that  to  a  girl  of  nineteen  of  pride  and  spirit  make  life 
weary,  depressing,  and  forlorn.  He  had  observed  her 
often  as  she  stopped  to  see  the  troop  ride  forth  for  the 
morning  exercise.  Evidently  his  own  person,  with  his 
uniform  and  bearing,  had  caught  her  eye.  At  one  time 
he  smiled  at  her,  and,  repelling  temptation,  she  had  an- 
swered with  an  angry  glance  and  a  curl  of  her  lip.  The 
glance  and  the  curled  lip  had  remained  with  him  during 
the  drill.  Attracted  by  her,  and  persistent  in  those  dis- 
reputable traditions  which  attach  to  the  soldier's  life 
and  lead  its  young  officers  to  unworthy  endeavor,  he 
waited  for  her  the  next  day  outside  the  book-shop,  and 
upon  her  coming  spoke  to  her.  This  time  the  gloomy 
interior  of  the  shop,  the  pressure  of  the  manifold  duties, 
and  that  eager  hope  of  girlish  youth  and  faith,  with  its 
memory  of  a  soldier's  show  and  trappings,  prevailed. 
She  answered  him,  and  that  evening  they  strolled  to- 
gether in  the  suburbs.  Her  father  was  a  teacher  in  a 
private  school.  His  income  was  small,  and  the  labor  of 
the  girl  helped  to  increase  the  few  comforts  of  the  modest 
home,  which  was  situated  in  a  quiet  and  retired  portion 
of  the  town.  Captain  Travers  was  known  in  Bath,  but 

118 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

not  in  this  locality.  He  could  visit  here  without  scan- 
dal, and  he  came  and  went  from  time  to  time  in  safety, 
unobserved,  and,  in  the  garb  of  a  civilian,  unsuspected 
as  to  motive  by  the  simple  parents.  Howard  Letcher, 
the  father,  was  a  timid  man,  not  over-worldly  wise.  He 
was  intemperate,  too.  His  wife  counted  for  nothing  at 
all  in  this  emergency,  except  to  precipitate  it,  as  kindly 
women  usually  do.  She  was  a  little  woman  in  poor 
health.  Her  one  anxiety  was  to  see  her  daughter  safely 
married  and  under  the  protection  of  some  one  able  to 
care  for  her.  She  knew  the  weakness  of  her  husband, 
and  felt  that  her  own  days  were  numbered.  Captain 
Travers  was  in  his  youthful  prime,  ready,  certain,  ardent, 
and  smooth  enough  of  tongue  with  people  whom  he 
thought  beneath  him.  The  anxious  mother  welcomed 
him  with  a  cordiality  which  made  his  temptation  the 
greater,  and,  as  in  all  such  cases,  Rose  Letcher  came  to 
realize  the  sad  and  ancient  truth  that  it  is  the  woman 
who  pays. 

The  events  which  followed  Captain  Travers  had  often 
wished  to  forget.  But  he  was  an  Englishman  and  a 
gentleman,  and  he  had  a  reputation  to  preserve.  The 
girl,  of  course,  had  none.  Youth  was  allowed  its  lati- 
tude in  his  creed,  and  consequences  that  were  the  result 
of  feeling  and  sensibility  upon  his  part,  and  that  really 
honored  the  girl,  had  she  been  able  to  understand,  were 
most  ungratefully  and  resentfully  met.  This  was  Sir 
William  Dawn's  opinion  when  called  to  consider  the 
matter.  In  the  presence  of  a  possible  scandal  Captain 
Travers  had  early  appealed  to  him.  He  resigned  the 
case  to  him  wholly.  Sir  William  agreed  with  him.  He 
must  bear  upon  his  part  his  own  responsibility,  but,  of 
course,  the  exaggerated  and  extraordinary  conclusion 
of  the  girl  was  not  to  weigh  on  him.  Many  people 
similarly  situated  would  have  accepted  the  money  which 
he  tendered  as  full  compensation  for  a  situation  that 

119 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

merely  involved  a  point  of  view.  But  the  girl,  disap- 
pointed and  abandoned,  was  wild  with  rage.  Her  fury 
was  that  of  a  madwoman  rather  than  a  young  English 
female  of  the  lower  middle  class.  The  father,  stricken 
and  humiliated,  viewed  matters  more  temperately.  He 
discussed  it  from  Sir  William's  stand-point,  and  was 
seemingly  quite  convinced.  Captain  Travers  congratu- 
lated himself  in  having  thought  of  this  diplomatic  friend. 
So  the  matter  was  settled.  Howard  Letcher  took  the 
money  which  Sir  William  offered,  and  was  content  to 
leave  the  country.  After  all,  the  girl  was  herself  to 
blame ;  and  if  her  mother  was  dead,  as  die  she  did  under 
the  trouble  which  drove  the  girl  frantic,  the  lamentable 
consequence  of  the  indiscretion  died,  too,  at  birth — 
which  was  a  blessing,  considering  that  there  was  a  good 
English  name  to  protect.  Captain  Travers,  thus  re- 
lieved, was  grateful  to  his  friend  and  duly  penitent. 
He  listened  patiently  while  the  elderly  man  cautioned 
him  sagely  as  to  the  future,  and  promised  to  offend  no 
more. 

Driving  now  towards  the  Park  Lane  house,  Captain 
Travers  recalled  the  events  and  consoled  himself. 

"I  was  a  young  man  myself,"  he  said,  "and  the  girl's 
mother  should  have  taught  her  better.  It's  an  English- 
woman's duty  to  teach  their  daughters  better — especial- 
ly when  a  girl  is  attractive,  and  inclined,  as  Rose  was, 
to  listen  to  a  fellow  like  me." 

"True,"  said  Sir  William,  philosophically — "quite 
true.  Motherhood  is  a  proud  badge  and  entails  respon- 
sibilities. Even  in  the  lower  middle  class  it  entails  re- 
sponsibility. If  the  girl  had  been  a  reasonable  girl 
there  would  have  been  no  trouble.  There  will  be  none 
now,  even  though  she  is  found  to  be  Mrs.  Littlefield's 
niece,  if  time  has  taught  her  sense.  But  the  fact  that 
she  was  such  a  fool  and  desired  to  make  scandal  is  what 
startled  me  at  first." 

120 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Captain  Travers  remembered  this  uneasily  himself. 
But  the  morning  ride  had  refreshed  him,  and  he  was  bent 
upon  two  propositions  that  had  fashioned  themselves  in 
his  mind:  He  would  press  Victoria  to  a  decision  with- 
out delay,  and  he  would  capture  Mrs.  Littlefield.  Per- 
haps, under  his  influence  and  guidance,  the  genealogical 
search  might  be  abandoned,  or,  at  least,  diverted.  Mrs. 
Littlefield's  attention  might  be  concentrated  on  her  new 
scheme  of  English  charity,  and  in  this  respect  he  knew 
the  seductions  of  his  aunt.  The  giving  to  charity  was  a 
fascinating  habit  once  indulged  in,  and  nieces  were  poor 
creatures,  after  all;  at  least,  Rose  Letcher  was  a  poor 
creature,  and  it  was  too  bad  that  she  was  to  linger  in  his 
memory  to  annoy  and  afflict  him. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  YOUNG  MAN  FROM  THE  UNION  TRUST  COMPANY 

EVERYBODY  on  the  East  Side  lived  around  the  corner. 
It  was  a  vicinity  in  which  there  were  innumerable  cor- 
ners, and  such  a  designation  clearly  indicated  to  all 
residents  the  abode  of  any  distinctive  character  among 
them.  Dan  Magee  lived  around  the  corner.  He  lived 
around  the  corner  from  Matthew  Durgan,  who  was 
his  stanch  and  particular  friend.  Mrs.  Magee,  Dan's 
mother  had,  in  the  beginning,  seen  in  Jane  Durgan,  nee 
Lahey,  a  fitting  mate  for  her  son.  So  seeing,  the  good 
lady  had  secretly  schemed  to  this  effect,  but  the  Catholic 
gods  had  ordained  otherwise.  Jane  Lahey  had  worked 
at  a  neighboring  paper-box  factory,  and  had  risen  to  be 
forewoman.  She  was  industrious  and  humble,  but  she 
was  also  good-looking,  which  Dan  Magee  had  observed 
and  remarked.  So  Mrs.  Magee,  in  pursuit  of  her  scheme, 
had  beguiled  the  girl  to  her  home,  and  there  were  in- 
numerable tea-parties  arranged  and  given,  on  which  the 
Wellobys  and  Pedricks  had  shed  the  light  of  their  pres- 
ence. These  had  called  out  the  good  lady's  best  blue 
ware  with  the  silver  teapot,  an  heirloom  from  Ireland, 
which  was  the  pride  of  the  Magee  flat.  But  Matthew 
Durgan,  a  young  man  and  a  growing  man,  and  hence  an 
ill-advised  guest,  had  attended  on  one  fatal  occasion, 
and  Dan's  star  had  set  forever  in  the  cloud  of  tobacco 
smoke  which  followed  the  dessert  and  enveloped  the 
table.  For  through  that  cloud  Matthew  and  Jane  had 
looked  at  each  other  with  a  meaning  that  is  written  in 

122 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

the  face  of  the  Sphinx,  and  Mrs.  Magee's  scheme  went 
glimmering  and  was  no  more.  The  policeman  exhibited 
no  malice  nor  any  visible  regret.  The  ungrateful  Jane, 
who  was  thus  content  with  a  smaller  man,  admired  him. 
She  admired  his  fine  form,  his  fine  features,  his  immense 
good-humor;  but  with  a  woman's  foresight,  which  was  a 
young  foresight,  and  unbiassed  by  a  mother's  prejudice, 
she  displayed  the  part  of  wisdom.  She  knew  of  "  For- 
ever "  Maggie  and  was  up  in  the  gossip  of  the  block.  And 
Matthew  knew  also,  and  if  he  smiled  at  the  old  lady's 
discomfiture  it  was  a  kindly  smile,  although  he  bore  off 
his  prize  in  triumph.  Dan  was  best  man  at  the  simple 
wedding;  and  Mrs.  Magee,  with  the  wisdom  of  age  and 
experience,  resigned  her  maternal  ambitions  with  a  good 
grace. 

"But  you  are  not  to  forget  that  it's  to  me  you  owe 
your  fortune,"  she  said.  And  thereupon  she  took  the 
young  couple  under  her  motherly  direction,  and  assisted 
their  domestic  setting  up  in  the  three  rooms  behind  the 
phonograph  store. 

"And  see  what  a  place  they  have!"  she  said  to  Dan. 
"A  bath-room  next  to  the  kitchen,  and  flowers  in  boxes 
in  the  windows,  and  two  canary-birds  that  sing  with 
the  music  that  Mat's  machines  make.  There's  many  of 
the  quality  back  home  not  nearly  so  well  started.  Ask 
Father  O'Grady.  I  could  rest  me  soul  out  there,  as 
pleasant  as  ye  make  it  for  me  here.  Sure  Maggie's  a 
good  girl,  but  look  at  her  uncle  and  the  boy!  With 
your  record  on  the  force — and  you,  keepin'  your  wife's 
people  boardin'  always  at  the  station,  as  well  ye  might, 
and  to  which  it  will  come,  mark  me  words.  And  the 
temptations  of  the  restaurant!  If  it  was  other  than 
Maggie,  I'd  not  have  ye  turn  your  eyes  to  her." 

"But  it's  Maggie,  mother,"  replied  Dan,  "and  it  '11 
be  Maggie  forever  to  me.  I'll  not  marry  the  other  two, 
and  it's  content  I  am  to  wait  awhile.  The  old  rascal 

123 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

can't  live  always,  and  perhaps  the  boy  is  no  worse  than 
was  I  at  his  age." 

And  the  Durgan  home  was  a  place  of  hospitality  in 
spite  of  its  restricted  area.  It  was  a  spot  as  wholesome 
in  its  integrity  as  the  model  chamber  at  No.  48.  It  was 
a  place  at  which  friends  gathered.  Professor  Frank, 
Rose  Letcher,  and,  at  times,  the  fashionable  Wellobys 
honored  it.  Mat  Durgan  was  not  in  politics,  being  too 
wise  and  too  shrewd  to  court  such  a  distinction  on  the 
East  Side,  but  Jacob  Roth  came  there  for  companion- 
ship; and  the  Durgans  were  silent  and  patient  when 
argument  ran  high  in  their  best  room.  The  phonograph 
store  prospered.  The  neighboring  saloon-keepers  and 
restaurant  people,  who  were  the  &lite  of  Avenue  A,  had 
progressed  to  the  patent  piano-player,  and  this  stimu- 
lated an  interest  in  mechanical  music  in  the  vicinity 
which  made  for  Mat  a  steady  patronage.  With  its  flow- 
ered horns,  its  gilt  signs,  and  advertising  pictures  in  the 
little  windows,  the  shop  (neatly  swept  and  dusted,  with 
Jane  Durgan  presiding  in  the  absence  of  her  husband) 
was  a  feature  of  the  narrow  street.  The  strident  notes 
that  issued  therefrom  had  now  ceased  to  attract  the 
curiosity  of  the  crowd,  for  Dan  Magee  had  scattered  the 
assembled  urchins  and  protected  the  spot  in  the  interest 
of  the  friendship  which  it  had  afforded  him.  In  Mrs. 
Durgan's  little  parlor,  with  Mrs.  Durgan  sympatheti- 
cally in  front  and  behind  the  counter,  Dan  Magee 's  best 
hours  of  courtship  were  spent,  and  here  with  "Forever  " 
Maggie  he  lived  his  romance  of  hope  and  aspiration. 
"Sure,  she  was  the  prettiest  and  truest  girl  on  the  East 
Side."  And  Mrs.  Durgan  nodded  smilingly.  "And  the 
bravest  and  the  heartiest,  the  very  girl  for  a  police- 
man." And  Mat  Durgan  assented.  And  Dan  Magee, 
the  pride  of  his  division,  the  man  with  a  record  at  fire 
and  riot,  who  knew  himself  to  be  admired  by  all  the 
eligible  girls  in  the  block,  dreamed  his  dream  of  humble 

124 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

ambition,  which  was  of  a  wider  apartment  up  Avenue 
A,  with  Blade  Rooney  at  work  and  old  man  Beechy 
in  oblivion,  his  comfort  presided  over  by  his  good 
mother  and  the  sweetest  Irish  maid  that  ever  had  a 
dimple  in  red  cheeks  and  a  smile  in  eyes  that  were  for- 
ever blue. 

A  week  had  passed  since  the  eventful  night  of  Marshall 
Treemon's  visit,  and  the  busy  life  of  the  great  East 
Side  was  normal;  it  buzzed  eternally,  like  the  monstrous 
hive  of  bees  that  it  was.  Dan  Magee  walked  his  beat 
without  a  memory  of  the  Western  statesman  of  whom 
he  had  had  a  glimpse,  but  who  was  to  him  typical  of  all 
statesmen  either  from  up-State  or  the  West ;  and  Jacob 
Roth,  absorbed  in  the  cares  of  his  turbulent  existence, 
had  forgotten  him.  And  Jacob's  existence  was  more 
turbulent  now,  for  the  prospects  of  the  great  strike  were 
growing  menacingly,  and  delegations  from  the  Middle 
West  came  and  went,  and  agents  were  constantly  wait- 
ing upon  and  conferring  with  the  chief  men  of  Union 
No.  10. 

Jacob  Roth  was  in  his  element.  Prior  to  his  meeting 
with  Rose  Letcher  he  had  been  simply  a  politician,  a 
heavy  and  unusually  angry  figure  about  the  local  polls, 
a  small  speaker  crying  out  for  the  rights  of  the  working- 
men.  This  was  upon  his  coming  to  the  East  Side, 
years  before;  but  when,  shortly  after,  Rose  Letcher 
made  her  appearance,  and  he  came  to  know  her,  a  mark- 
ed change  took  place  in  his  demeanor,  his  language, 
and  in  his  habits  of  life.  He  toned  down.  He  dressed 
better,  his  speech  became  milder,  and  he  watched  and 
guarded  it,  coloring  when  he  detected  himself  in  error, 
at  first  ashamed  and  abashed.  He  began  to  read  and 
study,  working  late  into  the  night.  This  attracted  the 
attention  of  Professor  Nathan  Frank,  the  East  Side 
editor  by  whom  Rose  Letcher  was  sometimes  employed, 
and  with  whom  she  was  later  associated  in  his  work  as 

"5 


PURPLE   AND    HOMESPUN 

a  lecturer.  Professor  Frank  paid  him  some  attention, 
invited  him  to  his  office,  and  afterwards  to  his  house. 
His  opportunities  for  meeting  Rose  Letcher  grew,  and 
he  became  an  ardent  socialist.  He  rose  among  his  fel- 
low-workers, was  made  an  officer  in  a  local  union,  and 
afterwards  elevated  to  the  head  of  the  great  iron -workers' 
association,  the  mother  lodge  of  many  branches — Union 
No.  10.  His  pride  expanded,  and  only  his  call  upon 
his  native  good  sense  and  a  course  of  discipline,  to  which 
he  subjected  himself  under  the  admonition  of  his  friends, 
enabled  him  to  hold  it  and  his  fierce  temper  in  check. 
The  influence  of  Professor  Frank  over  him  was  great, 
and  that  of  Rose  Letcher  boundless.  To  him  she  typi- 
fied the  highest  regions  of  exalted  womanhood.  She 
appealed  to  all  his  sentiments  and  prejudices.  He  led 
his  gang  and  he  led  his  union;  he  led  them  at  work 
and  at  the  polls.  He  was  a  fighter  to  the  core,  and  dis- 
putation was  his  glory.  He  believed  that  he  understood 
the  socialistic  cause,  but  recognized  the  limitations  upon 
his  knowledge,  and  it  sobered  him.  He  was  a  soldier  by 
nature,  with  a  soldier's  instinct  of  what  contest  might 
give  him.  Rose  Letcher  was  his  superior  in  all  except 
courage.  He  could  not  follow  the  method  she  had  ac- 
quired, and  did  not  understand  the  ability  which  con- 
stant thought  and  study  had  developed  in  her.  He  felt 
a  certain  jealousy  of  Professor  Frank  because  of  the 
education  which  made  him  Rose  Letcher's  intellectual 
equal,  but  to  his  mind  this  advantage  was  offset  by  his 
own  animal  vitality,  and  that  strong  and  dogged  force 
that  physically  made  the  quiet  and  slender  man  insig- 
nificant. Rose  Letcher  reached  the  heights  of  passion- 
ate and  indignant  controversy,  and  there  he  could  join 
her,  and  on  that  summit  they  stood  together.  Of  late 
he  had  besought  her  to  marry  him  with  a  fierceness  that 
would  have  frightened  a  less  sustained  woman.  She 
had  refused,  but  with  words  of  promise  that  filled  him 

126 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

with  hope.  The  Professor  was  much  her  elder,  and 
Jacob  Roth  at  first  believed  that  their  relationship  was 
due  to  a  common  intellectual  purpose.  Later  she  had 
told  him  there  were  distant  ties  of  blood  between  them; 
that  Professor  Frank  was  a  relation  of  her  father,  and 
had  known  her  people  abroad.  This  was  sufficient  for 
him.  But  the  indifferent  population  of  the  East  Side 
was  less  credulous,  and  a  careless  suggestion  once  made 
regarding  them  by  two  individuals  of  levity,  both  nearly 
as  powerful  as  himself,  had  never  been  repeated  in  his 
presence.  He  had  resented  it  with  a  rapidity  and  fury 
that  sent  both  to  the  hospital.  He  had  paid  his  fine 
triumphantly,  regretting  that  it  was  modest.  Rose 
Letcher  heard  of  the  incident  and  smiled  her  gratifica- 
tion. Once  more  he  renewed  his  suit,  but  Rose  Letcher 
grew  sad,  and  intimated  a  reason  for  her  refusal  that 
mystified  him.  He  sighed,  but  was  content  to  wait. 

Such  was  the  coterie  on  the  East  Side,  in  the  city  of 
New  York,  with  which  Marshall  Treemon,  a  senator  of 
the  United  States,  had  so  strangely  come  in  contact. 

To-day,  Dan  Magee,  off  duty  and  in  his  shirt-sleeves, 
had  strolled  up  the  narrow  street,  pausing  at  the  door 
of  the  phonograph  shop. 

"Come  in,"  said  Mat  Durgan,  from  behind  the 
counter.  "Jane  is  back,  and  if  you'll  step  in  I'll  join 
you  shortly." 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  business  was  slack. 

Dan  Magee  passed  through  the  front  room  and  into 
the  chamber  at  the  rear. 

"Good-evening,  Dan,"  said  Mrs.  Durgan.  "How's 
the  mother?" 

"She's  well  as  common,  and  looks  to  come  over  to- 
night. I  strolled  out  to  the  baker's  for  an  evening  loaf 
and  a  paper  at  the  corner." 

"Maggie  will  stop  here  on  her  way  from  work,"  said 
Mrs.  Durgan,  speaking  always  on  a  subject  which  was 

127 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

first  in  the  mind  of  Dan  Magee.  "She  stopped  by  this 
morning  on  her  way  down.  A  funny  letter  she  had, 
which  she  will  come  to  talk  to  Mat  about,  he  subse- 
quent to  see  Father  O'Grady.  'Twas  from  a  man  who 
was  here  with  Jake  Roth." 

' '  A  letter  ?' '  And  Dan  was  instantly  attentive.  ' '  What 
man?" 

"The  political  man — the  Senator." 

"I  know  him,  but  I  forget  his  name,"  said  Dan. 

"It's  Treemon,"  said  Mrs.  Durgan. 

"It's  the  pension,  I  guess,"  called  Mat,  from  in  front, 
the  drawn  curtains  enabling  him  to  hear  the  words 
spoken.  He  could  almost  have  guessed  their  import. 
"The  lawyer  that  is  friend  to  Jake." 

"I  remember,"  said  Dan. 

"The  letter  was  funny,  as  she  said  it,"  and  Mrs.  Dur- 
gan tittered.  "She  was  late,  and  in  a  hurry,  which  she 
seldom  is.  The  old  man  could  have  no  pension,  Jake 
Roth  said;  but  Maggie  would  capture  any  one.  I  told 
her  the  man  was  makin'  advances  and  the  letter  was 
an  excuse.  Sure  there's  none  so  high  but  will  look  at 
a  girl  like  Maggie." 

"They  may  look,  for  all  that,"  replied  Dan,  with  an 
added  oath,  which  the  East  Side  conventionality  made  a 
common  emphasis  of  speech.  "I'm  not  the  one  to  kick 
at  such  a  look,  seem'  that  the  girl  attracts  it  naturally. 
I  know  too  much,  and  I  know  me  place.  But  I  know 
the  girl,  and  be  hanged  to  them.  But  the  man's  a 
lawyer,  after  all." 

"And  Maggie's  a  girl  for  the  best  of  them,"  said  Mrs. 
Durgan.  "What's  that?" 

She  stopped  and  listened,  her  woman's  person  sharp 
in  attention.  The  voice  of  her  husband  came  to  them. 

Mrs.  Durgan  stepped  beside  the  curtains,  through 
which  Dan  could  see  readily. 

Two  men  stood  at  the  counter.  One,  a  flashily  dressed 
128 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

fellow  in  striped  trousers  and  a  derby  hat,  leaned  negli- 
gently upon  the  metal  rail.  The  other,  younger  and  of 
a  different  demeanor,  of  the  style  and  manner  belong- 
ing to  a  different  vicinity,  spoke  brusquely  and  in  a 
tone  of  business. 

"No.  48  is  where  she  lives.  Miss  Maggie  Rooney, 
who's  uncle  is  a  man  named  Beechy.  I  was  ordered  to 
inquire  here,  you  being  a  friend  of  hers."  He  looked  at 
some  notes  in  a  book  which  he  held  with  a  superior  air 
— an  air  likely  to  impress  such  a  place  with  his  impor- 
tance. 

"I  know  Maggie  Rooney,  and  I  know  old  Beechy," 
said  Mat.  "What  of  it?" 

"I  am  to  see  a  Mr.  Jacob  Roth  or  to  leave  a  note  for 
him.  Our  people  don't  know  his  address,  but  I  was  told 
that  we  could  get  it  here.  I  am  from  the  Union  Trust 
Company,  and  Miss  Rooney  and  Mr.  Beechy  are  the 
beneficiaries  of  a  trust." 

"What's  that?"  inquired  Mat.  "I  guess  it's  Roth 
you  want  to  see,  after  all." 

Mrs.  Durgan  now  appeared  beside  her  husband,  while 
Dan  Magee  stood  between  the  curtains.  The  young  man 
glanced  about  him  with  a  certain  pride  in  his  message, 
while  his  companion  stood  erect. 

"There's  been  an  account  opened  in  their  interests, 
and  the  company  is  charged  with  certain  payments  of 
money  to  be  made  them  monthly,  I  believe." 

He  smiled  as  Mrs.  Durgan  lifted  her  hands  ecstatically. 

"O-oh!"  she  exclaimed.     "It's  the  pension!" 

"What  pension?"  asked  Dan  Magee,  coming  now  to 
the  front.  "Fourteen  dollars  per  quarter  to  old  Beechy 
can't  amount  to  much.  I  don't  see  —  about  the  ac- 
count." 

"It  may  be  the  accumulation — the  pension  in  ar- 
rears," said  the  other  man,  who  had  not  announced  him- 
self. 

129 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"Sure — that's  right,"  said  Mat. 

"Are  you  Mr.  Roth?"  asked  the  young  man  of  Dan 
Magee. 

"  I'm  not  Mr.  Roth,"  was  the  answer.  "  What's  Mag- 
gie to  do  with  a  pension  for  the  old  man  ?  I  wish  Jake 
was  here." 

"I  know  Maggie  Rooney,"  said  the  second  man. 

Dan  Magee  looked  him  over.  The  impression  he 
made  did  not  call  for  anything.  He  might  have  been 
an  insurance  agent,  a  book  agent,  or  a  small  real-estate 
dealer.  Dan  had  seen  thousands  like  him.  He  was 
about  thirty-five  years  old,  with  a  red  face  and  brown 
mustache. 

"A  good  many  know  Maggie,"  said  Dan,  carelessly. 

"The  Maggie  Rooney  I  know  works  in  a  restaurant 
down  on  New  Street." 

"That's  her — that's  Maggie,"  said  Jane  Durgan. 

"A  good  girl,"  said  the  fellow,  patronizingly,  puffing 
out  his  red  cheeks.  "A  plagued  good  girl,  I  tell  ye.  I 
hope  luck  is  with  her." 

"It  generally  is,"  responded  Dan,  dryly.    "Thank'ee." 

"A-ah!"     And  the  fellow  stared. 

"My  friend,  Mr.  Josiah  Turtle,  whom  I  met  by  acci- 
dent," explained  the  young  man  from  the  Union  Trust 
Company.  "I  know  him  casually,  and  told  him  of  my 
errand,  as  I'm  not  familiar  with  this  locality.  He  kind- 
ly offered  to  pilot  me."- 

"Here's  Maggie  now!"  cried  Jane  Durgan,  and  in  a 
moment  the  girl  entered  from  the  street. 


CHAPTER  XII 
MAGGIE'S  FORTUNE 

MAGGIE'S  eyes  were  sparkling  and  her  color  was  high. 
She  had  walked  rapidly  from  the  elevated  road,  and 
now  paused  for  breath,  betraying  both  excitement  and 
surprise  at  the  assembly  she  confronted,  especially  in 
the  fact  that  they  all  seemed  to  regard  her  with  con- 
tinued and  concentrated  interest. 

"Well!"  she  exclaimed,  glancing  from  one  to  the 
other,  her  teeth  showing  in  her  smile.  "What's  up 
with  you  all  ?" 

Jane  Durgan  was  the  first  to  speak.  She  rushed  from 
behind  the  counter  and  threw  herself  into  her  friend's 
arms. 

"Oh,  Maggie!"  she  cried.  "It's  money — there's  mon- 
ey come  to  you!" 

Surprised  and  somewhat  alarmed,  Maggie  put  Jane 
aside  and  looked  at  Dan. 

"I  don't  know  about  it,"  said  that  person,  with  a 
shake  of  his  head.  "It's  the  young  feller  here  from  the 
trust  company." 

He  pointed,  as  he  spoke,  to  the  young  man,  and 
Maggie  now  regarded  the  stranger  with  a  gaze  of  in- 
quiry. 

"That's  Miss  Rooney,"  said  Dan. 

The  young  man  cleared  his  throat.  His  companion, 
Mr.  Turtle,  looked  at  the  girl,  thus  flushed  with  excite- 
ment, with  bold  and  open  admiration. 

"A  trust  account  has  been  opened  for  you  with  our 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

company,  Miss  Rooney,"  said  the  young  man.  "It  is 
in  favor — " 

"Which  means?"  interrupted  Maggie. 

"Which  means  that  some  one  has  placed  money  to 
your  account,  or  credit,  in  the  trust  company,"  said 
Josiah  Turtle,  breaking  in.  "A  trust  company  is  in 
effect  a  bank,  Miss  Rooney,  and  some  one  has  deposited 
money  there  for  you.  Adams  is  employed  there" — and 
he  put  his  hand  on  his  companion's  shoulder — "and 
they  have  sent  him  over  to  tell  you  about  it." 

"That's  it,"  said  the  young  man.  "They  want  you 
to  call  at  the  company's  office  and  leave  your  signa- 
ture." 

"Once  more,  please?"  said  Maggie. 

The  young  man  laughed. 

"You  are  to  go  over  and  write  your  name  for  them," 
said  Turtle — "a  specimen  of  your  handwriting,  so  when 
you  sign  checks  they  will  know  your  signature." 

"Sign  checks!     Holy  gee!"  exclaimed  Jane  Durgan. 

"Well!"  And  Maggie  drew  a  long  breath  while  she 
looked  at  Dan  in  delight.  "Sign  checks — I  guess  I 
know  what  that  means.  But  how  much  am  I  gettin' 
in  this?  Sign  checks?  I  may  want  to  draw  it  all  at 
once." 

"I  guess  not."  And  the  young  man  laughed  again. 
The  good-humor  of  the  situation  appealed  to  him.  "It's 
a  trust,  which  means  that  the  party  who  established  it 
keeps  it  with  us.  The  interest  quarterly,  or  monthly, 
or  something  of  that  sort,  is  set  apart  to  you,  and  you 
draw  against  it.  I  don't  know  what  it  is.  They  will  tell 
you  at  the  office.  But  it's  a  good  many  thousands  of 
dollars,  I  suppose." 

"Holy  gee!"     This  time  it  was  Mat's  exclamation. 

"You  suppose?"  asked  Dan. 

"I  know  that  much,"  replied  the  young  man,  with  a 
toss  of  his  head.  "If  she  will  come  over  with  Mr.  Roth 

132 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

or  some  friend  to  identify  her,  they  will  tell  her.  Mr. 
Roth  was  mentioned,  he  being  the  president  of  some 
sort  of  society  over  here,  as  I  heard,  and  can  stand  for 
Miss  Rooney  over  there." 

"Well!"  exclaimed  Maggie,  her  bewilderment  still  upon 
her.  "Who's  doing  all  this  for  me  ?" 

"I  don't  know.     They  will  explain  at  the  office." 

"Why,  it's  Mr.  Treemon!"  cried  Jane  Durgan.  "Mr. 
Beechy's  name  was  mentioned." 

"That's  right.  You  are  both  in  it,"  said  the  young 
man. 

"Mr.  Treemon — well,  I  never!"  And  Maggie  walked 
into  the  back  room  and  sat  down.  The  others  followed 
her  and  stood  about. 

"It's  the  pension,"  said  the  girl. 

"It's  no  pension,"  said  Dan. 

Maggie  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  His  tone  had 
changed.  He  did  not  now  appear  to  share  the  exulta- 
tion of  the  others. 

"Why,  what  should  he  be  doing  it  for,  otherwise?" 

"He's  a  lawyer,  and  can  tell  that  himself,"  said  Dan, 
gloomily. 

Maggie  rose  at  once. 

"Come,  Dan,"  she  said,  "you  may  walk  over  with 
me.  I'll  go  to  the  company,"  she  continued,  to  the 
young  man.  "When  is  it  I  should  go?" 

"To-morrow — any  time,"  was  the  answer. 

"I'll  be  there,"  she  said. 

"You  ain't  remembering  all  your  friends,  Miss  Rooney, 
are  you?"  laughed  Josiah  Turtle.  "Money  makes  a 
difference,  don't  it?" 

"Not  with  me  it  don't,"  she  answered,  with  a  smile. 
''I  haven't  had  enough  of  it  to  know  anything  about  it. 
But  I  remember  your  face.  I've  seen  you  at  the  restau- 
rant." 

"That's  right,"  said  Turtle. 
J33 


PURPLE   AND    HOMESPUN 

"Mr.  Josiah  Turtle,"  said  the  young  man. 

Maggie  nodded. 

"We'll  see  you  no  more  at  the  restaurant  now,  with 
thousands  on  tap  in  the  bank.  We'll  miss  the  prettiest 
girl  down  there,  but  we  won't  lose  sight  of  you.  By 
jinks!  the  proprietor  ought  to  give  you  a  banquet." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Maggie.     "Come,  Dan." 

"You'll  be  back,  Maggie?"  said  Jane  Durgan. 

"I'll  be  back,  and  bring  Dan  with  me.  But  don't  go 
tellin'  this  around  the  neighborhood.  There  may  be 
nothin'  in  it,  and  I'll  be  laughed  at." 

"I'll  laugh  now,"  said  young  Mr.  Adams,  with  a 
guffaw,  in  which  Mr.  Turtle  joined. 

"I  thank  you,  gentlemen,"  said  Maggie,  red  with  pleas- 
ure once  more. 

"Here's  a  card,  and  the  name  of  the  trust  officer  you 
are  to  see  is  underlined.  Good-day." 

Maggie  took  it,  and  again  pulling  at  Dan's  arm,  they 
went  together  into  the  street. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Dan?"  she  asked,  when 
they  were  out-of-doors. 

He  walked  by  her  side  moodily,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  she  repeated. 

"You  know,"  he  answered,  in  a  surly  tone.  "The 
man  don't  live  that  would  wish  you  more  good  luck 
than  myself,  but  I  ain't  taking  much  pleasure  in  this 
news.  You  know  why." 

"Do  I?"  she  answered.  "Well,  I  guess!  You  are 
thinking  it  will  make  a  difference — which  it  won't. 
Thousands,  the  man  said,  and  it  came  to  me  heart  as 
quick  as  a  flash — it  '11  buy  Dan  the  shield  of  a  sergeant!" 

He  swung  about,  his  face  lighting  up. 

"By  Heaven,  that's  true!  I  stand  well  already,  and 
money  will  fix  it  years  ahead.  I  didn't  think  of  that. 
I'll  square  it  with  you  by  making  you  a  sergeant's  wife!" 

134 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"You  can  never  make  anything  squarer  with  me, 
Dan,  than  it  is  now,"  she  said,  gently.  "If  you  keep 
yourself  as  you  are,  I'd  marry  you  when  the  time  comes, 
be  you  drivin'  a  car  or  ownin'  a  Wall  Street  office — and 
I'm  thinking  I'd  sooner  have  you  drivin'  the  car." 

Dan  was  gloomy  once  more. 

"There!"  he  said.  "I  knew  it!  I  ain't  good  enough 
for  you,  Maggie.  I  never  was — and  now  it's  worse.  I 
wasn't  fit  to  look  at  you  in  the  restaurant,  but  now, 
with  your  money,  it  ought  to  be  '  Miss  Rooney  '  for  me." 

He  uttered  a  sharp  ejaculation  of  pain,  clasping  his 
arm  quickly  at  the  spot  where  Maggie  pinched  him 
fiercely  with  her  firm  fingers.  But  the  look  in  her  face, 
a  smile  out  of  keeping  with  her  sharp  rebuke,  sent  him 
tremblingly  back,  halting  against  the  wall,  his  eyes 
filling  with  tears. 

"Really,  I  ain't  fit,  Maggie.  But  I  love  you — every- 
body knows  that  I  love  you.  I  always  will,  Maggie." 

Maggie  laughed  joyously. 

"I  like  you  better  that  way,  Dan,"  she  said.  "Come 
on." 

"No,"  he  said,  straightening  up.  "I've  not  me  coat; 
and  besides,  I'll  want  to  speak  to  the  mother  about  it. 
I'll  step  to  the  door  with  you  and  then  go  home.  To- 
night I'll  come  over." 

"  Come  over  to  Jane's,"  she  said.  "  If  you  see  Jake 
Roth,  fetch  him;  but  if  not,  I'll  send  Blade  over  when 
he  comes  from  work." 

"I'll  find  Jake  Roth,"  he  said,  "and  caution  the 
mother  not  to  talk  any,  for  the  reason  you  gave  to  Jane. 
Sure,  I'm  glad  for  you,  Maggie;  you  know  that.  But 
it's  the  excitement;  and  a  man,  after  all,  has  not  the 
nerves  of  a  good  woman." 

"You  never  lacked  nerve,  Dan,  except  with  me,"  she 
said.  "Come  over  as  quick  as  you've  had  your  supper." 

Dan  walked  with  her  to  the  entrance  of  No.  48,  and 
135 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

when  she  had  disappeared  into  the  hall  and  up  the  stair- 
way, turned,  forgetful  that  he  was  coatless,  and  walked 
rapidly  in  the  direction  of  Avenue  A.  He  was  going 
directly  to  the  lodgings  of  Jacob  Roth.  It  was  too 
early  for  the  iron-worker  to  appear,  but  a  message  could 
be  left  with  the  landlady.  A  request  from  Maggie  was, 
with  Dan,  equivalent  to  a  command.  A  few  steps  along 
the  avenue  made  a  further  journey  unnecessary.  He  met 
Rose  Letcher  proceeding  homeward. 

"Will  you  tell  Jake  Roth  we  want  him  to  come  down 
to  Mat  Durgan's  to-night?"  he  asked  of  her.  "An*  say 
— will  you  come  yourself?" 

"I  will  tell  Mr.  Roth,"  she  answered,  "if  he  comes 
home  to  supper.  As  for  myself,  I  have  nothing  for  to- 
night." 

"Come  down,  then,"  he  said,  "and  bring  the  Profes- 
sor with  you,  if  he'll  come.  We  may  want  some  advice." 

She  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"You  are  not  going  to  leave  the  force?"  she  laughed. 

"I  am  going  to  stay  on  the  force  until  I  get  to  be 
inspector,"  he  answered,  his  humor  improved.  "And 
then  you  can  meet  in  my  district  and  talk  all  the  anarchy 
you  please.  I  don't  understand  it,  but  I'm  not  afraid 
of  you  or  the  Professor.  You  wouldn't  hurt  anybody, 
either  of  you." 

"That  is  right;  we  wouldn't  hurt  anybody,  Mr. 
Magee,"  she  replied,  gravely.  "It  is  our  desire  to  bene- 
fit all." 

"You  can't  argue  with  me,"  he  replied,  "because  I 
don't  know  how.  But  come  down  to-night  with  Jake 
and  the  Professor,  and  you'll  hear  some  gossip." 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed.  "Are  you  going  to  be  mar- 
ried?" 

"No,"  he  answered.  "I'm  not  going  to  be  married 
until  Maggie  Rooney  is  ready — which  she  should  have 
been  a  year  ago.  But  that's  not  it." 

136 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"I'll  tell  Mr.  Roth,"  she  said,  passing  on. 

Dan  hurried  home,  and  that  night  at  supper  imparted 
his  information  to  his  mother.  Mrs.  Magee  was  all 
excitement. 

"It  can  send  old  Beechy  to  a  refuge,  maybe,"  she  said. 
"Then  you  can  marry  Maggie,  and  be  hanged  to  him." 

Dan  finished  his  meal  in  silence.  He  did  not  care  to 
talk.  His  mother  chatted  on,  but  he  did  not  heed  her. 
Dressing  himself  with  more  than  his  usual  care,  he  went 
over  again  to  the  home  of  the  Durgans.  He  had  delayed 
purposely,  and  arrived  late.  When  he  entered  the  others 
were  ahead  of  him  —  Maggie,  Rose  Letcher,  Professor 
Frank,  and  Jacob  Roth.  The  store  was  closed,  and 
they  had  assembled  in  the  back  room  eagerly  discuss- 
ing the  change  in  Maggie's  fortune.  There  was  a  hush 
when  Dan  appeared. 

"Where's  the  old  man?"  he  asked. 

"He  didn't  come  home,"  said  Maggie.  "There's  no 
need  to  tell  him  anything  until  we  know  more  our- 
selves." 

"Mat's  had  the  big  instrument  out,"  said  Jane,  point- 
ing to  the  great  flowered  horn  against  a  phonograph  on 
the  table,  "playing  all  the  jubilant  tunes  we  can  think 
of.  We'll  start  a  new  Wedding  March  now." 

"Let  it  alone,  Jane,"  said  Mat.  "We've  had  music 
enough.  I  guess  Maggie's  got  her  soul  full  of  it,  any- 
way." 

"I've  been  thinking  a  lot,"  said  the  girl.  "If  it's 
money  enough  to  put  Blade  at  school,  I'll  be  glad.  It's 
strange  what  having  money  rouses  in  the  heart.  The 
young  fellow  said  thousands,  and  that's  in  my  ears.  We 
can't  know  until  to-morrow." 

"It  was  a  great  surprise,"  said  Professor  Frank,  speak- 
ing to  Dan.  "It  should  make  a  change  in  Maggie's 
life."  And  here  he  shook  his  head.  "She  was  very 
happy  as  it  was." 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"I  'ain't  been  right  about  it  meself,"  said  Dan,  seating 
himself.  "Of  course,  I'm  glad,  for  Maggie's  sake;  but  I'm 
feeling  now  that  it  ain't  all  good  news  for  the  rest  of  us. 
I'm  so  mixed  up  I've  had  a  dozen  moods  on  the  subject." 

"I  thought  I  told  you,  Dan,"  said  Maggie,  looking  at 
him  reproachfully,  "that  it  will  make  no  difference  to 
me.  You're  a  big  booby,  anyway." 

"A  woman  has  a  right  to  any  good-fortune  that  comes 
to  her,  especially  Maggie,"  said  Rose  Letcher.  "Who 
are  we  to  take  exception  to  it?  If  it  came  our  way 
we'd  be  glad  enough." 

"It  is  peculiar,"  said  the  Professor,  reflectively. 
"Here  we  write  and  talk  against  wealth  because  the 
rich  have  it ;  and  now  that  some  good  -  fortune  comes 
to  one  among  us,  we  immediately  exult.  Suppose  it 
should  come  to  all  of  us  and  to  all  the  poor  in  this  com- 
munity ?  Would  we  all  quit  working  in  the  restaurants, 
quit  publishing  small  papers,  and  resign  from  the  police 
force  ?  It  is  a  small  matter  that  brings  a  great  question 
home  to  us." 

"I  'ain't  said  I  was  going  to  quit,"  observed  Maggie. 

"We  should  immediately  try  to  rise  higher  in  life," 
went  on  the  Professor,  "whatever  that  may  mean.  We 
should  leave  the  places  we  have,  either  vacant  or  for 
those  who  would  fill  them  from  some  lower  deep,  who 
in  turn  might  experience  the  same  luck — and  would 
want  to  experience  the  same  luck." 

"And  would  have  a  right  to  experience  the  same 
luck,"  said  Rose  Letcher. 

"Certainly,"  continued  the  Professor,  calmly,  while 
Jacob  Roth  listened  with  the  attitude  of  one  who  was 
auditor  to  a  heresy.  "Must  there  always  be  hewers 
of  wood  and  drawers  of  water?" 

"Wood  must  be  hewn  and  water  drawn,"  said  Rose; 
"but  we  can  distribute  the  task.  It  certainly  should 
not  all  be  done  by  one  class." 

138 


PURPLE   AND    HOMESPUN 

"Doesn't  the  task  make  the  class?"  asked  the  Pro- 
fessor. 

"You  are  getting  some  new  thoughts,"  growled  Jacob 
Roth. 

' '  The  whole  social  problem  constantly  induces  thought, ' ' 
laughed  Rose  Letcher,  unpleasantly.  "  Thought  empha- 
sizes discontent,  but  I  presume  it  must  be  elevating.  We 
are  taught  so,  at  all  events." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Jane  Durgan, 
"but  some  one  must  go  with  Maggie  to-morrow  to  the 
company." 

"That's  what  I  want  to  talk  about,"  said  Maggie. 
"That's  why  I  wanted  you  all  here." 

"Mat  says  I  was  expected,"  observed  Jacob  Roth. 
"I'm  willing  enough,  but  I'd  like  some  one  a  little 
more  ready  on  this  sort  of  business  to  go  too." 

"I  think  Rose  can  go,"  said  Professor  Frank.  "She 
would  like  an  opportunity  to  get  in  close  quarters  with 
the  money  people." 

"She  won't  argue?"  exclaimed  Maggie,  in  alarm. 

"No,  I'll  just  look,  you  little  fool,"  said  Rose,  with 
a  laugh. 

Jacob  Roth's  countenance  expressed  his  satisfaction 
with  this  arrangement,  and  Jane  Durgan  here,  in  spite 
of  Mat's  prohibition,  started  the  large  phonograph. 
Under  the  influence  of  the  music  the  responsibility 
which  Maggie's  fortune  had  laid  upon  them  all  was 
lifted.  Dan  Magee,  sitting  by  Maggie's  side,  for  a  time 
forgot  the  incubus  of  her  good  luck  in  the  better  luck 
of  their  joy  in  each  other. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A    MORAL    DUTY 

PROMPTLY  at  ten  o'clock  on  the  following  morning, 
when  Mr.  Janison,  the  trust  officer  of  the  Union  Trust 
Company,  seated  himself  at  his  desk  for  the  business 
of  the  day,  Maggie  Rooney  with  Jacob  Roth  and  Rose 
Letcher  presented  themselves.  They  were  not  kept 
waiting,  but  a  clerk  conducted  them  immediately  into 
the  private  office.  The  exterior  of  such  a  place  was  not 
strange  to  either  Jacob  Roth  or  Rose  Letcher,  but  it 
was  a  new  sensation  to  be  thus  admitted  to  its  inner 
precincts.  Both  looked  about  them  with  almost  a  feel- 
ing of  irritation  as  they  passed  down  the  long  marble 
aisle  in  front  of  the  plate-glass  windows  of  the  counters, 
and  their  thoughts  lost  themselves  in  a  maze  of  clerks, 
books,  type-writers,  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  the 
great  establishment.  Maggie  noted  this  with  an  amused 
laugh.  Her  duties  had  brought  her  into  such  easy 
familiarity  with  every  variety  of  man  that  she  ex- 
perienced no  sense  of  awe  at  the  strangeness  of  the 
place. 

"We  East-Siders  would  have  to  educate  ourselves  to 
this  sort  of  thing  before  we  could  take  hold  of  it,  wouldn't 
we,  Rcse?"  she  whispered,  with  a  flash  in  her  eyes. 

"You  think  you  belong  here  already,"  said  Rose, 
in  reply,  smiling,  as  she  understood.  "You  are  getting 
ideas  early." 

Mr.  Janison  rose  from  his  desk  and  shook  hands  with 
them. 

140 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"Sit  down,"  he  said,  taking  off  his  spectacles  and 
leaning  back  in  his  spring  chair.  "You  are  Mr.  Roth?" 
And  he  addressed  Jacob. 

"Yes,  sir." 

Mr.  Janison  pulled  a  bundle  of  papers  in  front  of  him, 
and  left  them  lying  upon  the  blotting  pad. 

"Which  of  these  ladies  is  Miss  Rooney?" 

"You  might  look  at  us,  sir,"  said  Maggie,  with  a 
laugh.  "I'm  Maggie  Rooney." 

Mr.  Janison  laughed,  too,  regarding  her  bright  morn- 
ing face  with  kindly  approval. 

"And  Mr.  Beechy — and  your  brother?" 

"They  didn't  come  over,  sir.  The  young  man  didn't 
say  so,  sir." 

"It  was  not  necessary,"  said  Mr.  Janison.  "While 
they  are  beneficiaries  of  the  trust,  it  is  to  be  executed 
through  you." 

"If  you  will  tell  us  about  it,  sir,"  said  Maggie.  "We 
don't  understand  these  words — at  least,  I  don't." 

"I  will  make  it  as  plain  to  you  as  I  can,  Miss  Rooney," 
replied  the  trust  officer,  his  voice  finding  its  way  to 
Maggie 's  heart .  "Mr.  Treemon ,  the  author  of  the  trust — ' ' 

"Oh,  sir!  It  was  Mr.  Treemon,  then?"  interrupted 
Maggie.  "I  beg  pardon,  but  I  didn't  know." 

"Be  patient,"  said  the  trust  officer.  "It  is  my  busi- 
ness to  make  people  understand  these  things.  Senator 
Treemon,  a  senator  from  the  West,  has  placed  a  large 
sum  of  money  here,  to  be  used  for  the  benefit  of  Michael 
Beechy  and  Margaret  and  Blade  Rooney.  He  has  in- 
structed us  as  to  Mr.  Beechy's  infirmity,  and  we  have 
accepted  the  trust  with  a  knowledge  of  all  conditions. 
He  directs  that  the  income  from  this  money,  with  cer- 
tain portions  of  the  principal,  shall  be  from  time  to  time 
paid  to  you  for  the  common  benefit  of  the  three,  but  to 
be  disbursed  by  you.  Our  discretion  is  strictly  defined 
in  the  writings  of  instruction.  It  seems  that  many 

141 


PURPLE   AND    HOMESPUN 

years  ago,  while  Mr.  Beechy  was  in  the  army,  his  son, 
a  boy  of  tender  years,  was  given  over  to  a  commission 
of  the  Board  of  Charities  in  this  city,  and  eventually 
sent  West.  He  grew  up  there,  ignorant  of  his  people  or 
their  connection,  and  made  a  success  of  things.  The 
opportunities  out  there  appear  to  be  many,  and  young 
Beechy  prospered  in  the  mining  business.  In  this  con- 
nection he  became  associated  with  Senator  Treemon, 
himself  interested  in  mines,  and  a  friendship  resulted 
which  endured  until  Beechy's  death.  He  died  suddenly, 
leaving  all  of  his  estate  to  Senator  Treemon." 

"By  will?"  asked  Jacob  Roth. 

"He  could  do  so  in  no  other  way,"  replied  Mr.  Janison. 
"But  you  will  not  find  a  copy  among  the  papers.  It 
was  by  nuncupative  will — that  is,  a  verbal  statement  of 
his  wishes  made  on  his  death-bed,  and  to  competent 
witnesses.  This  was  clearly  established,  and  Senator 
Treemon  took  possession  of  the  property.  But  he  knew 
from  their  intercourse  that  Beechy  would  have  cared 
for  his  people  if  he  had  known  of  them,  and  now,  having 
found  these  relatives  here  in  New  York,  he  has  established 
this  trust  for  their  benefit.  He  waives  all  formalities, 
but  undertakes  to  care  for  the  matter  in  his  own  way, 
undoubtedly  his  legal  right.  He  discovered  that  Mr. 
Beechy,  the  father,  is  irresponsible,  and  Blade  Rooney 
is  a  youth;  that  Miss  Rooney  is  the  sustainer  of  the 
family,  and  well  competent  to  continue  so.  He  finds  " — 
and  here  the  trust  officer  took  up  the  papers  and  seem- 
ingly read  from  one — "that  Miss  Rooney  is  an  excellent, 
industrious,  and  worthy  young  lady."  And  here  he 
laid  the  papers  down  again.  "And  so  we  have  instruc- 
tions to  conserve  this  family  arrangement,  and  leave 
still  with  Miss  Rooney  the  care  and  management  of  the 
family  interests." 

"She's  all  that,"  said  Jacob  Roth,  with  a  glance  at 
Maggie.  "  How  much  is  this  money  ?" 

142 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"One  hundred  thousand  dollars — with  probably  more, 
as  soon  as  Senator  Treemon  may  disentangle  it  from 
interests  which  are  his  own." 

"One  —  hundred  —  thousand  dollars!"  gasped  Jacob 
Roth,  as  though  doubting  the  evidence  of  his  ears,  while 
Maggie  and  Rose  were  speechless.  "And  Marsh  Tree- 
mon gives  Maggie  all  that  ?" 

"Senator  Treemon  had  no  option  but  to  do  what  he 
conceived  to  be  his  duty  in  the  premises,"  replied  Mr. 
Janison. 

"Why,  he  could  have  kept  this  money,  and  never 
said  a  word  about  it,  couldn't  he  ?"  suddenly  asked  Rose 
Letcher. 

"Why,  certainly.  He  could  do  so  yet,  the  money  being 
legally  his.  But  it  is  burdened  with  this  moral  obliga- 
tion which  any  honorable  man  would  recognize  at  once." 

"Well,  this  is  a  new  phase  of  Marsh's  character,"  said 
Jacob  Roth,  drawing  a  long  breath.  "I  sure  didn't 
know  he  had  it  in  him.  I  thought  he'd  been  spoiled 
by  what  you  people  call  his  career.  But  it  isn't  so;  for 
he's  been  looking  this  matter  up  for  years,  as  he  tells 
me.  I  guess  he  always  intended  to  do  fair." 

"Senator  Treemon  bears  a  high  reputation,  Mr.  Roth," 
said  Mr.  Janison.  "You  have  evidently  known  him?" 

"Oh,  I've  known  him,"  answered  Jacob.  "We  was 
boys  together." 

"I  see,"  said  the  trust  officer.  "He  states  that  you 
are  locally  prominent  among  the  labor  -  unions,  and  is 
content  with  your  identification  of  Miss  Rooney.  I 
hope  it  will  establish  good  relations  between  us."  And 
Mr.  Janison  looked  the  more  good-natured.  "We  have 
interests  that  the  labor  unions-make  a  lot  of  trouble  for." 

"They  make  a  lot  of  trouble  for  a  lot  of  people,"  said 
Jacob,  proudly.  "Miss  Letcher  here  is — " 

Rose  Letcher  interrupted  him  with  a  suddenness  that 
made  him  start. 

143 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"What's  to  be  done?"  she  asked,  sharply.  "How 
much  money  does  Miss  Rooney  draw,  and  when?" 

Mr.  Janison  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"I  have  the  papers  here,  in  which  all  the  details  of 
the  trust  are  set  forth.  Anything  not  made  plain  there- 
in we  are  ready  to  enlighten  her  on." 

"She  can  read,"  said  Rose,  "and  so  can  I.  I  under- 
stand the  English  language  with  some  accuracy,  and 
will  undertake  to  enlighten  her  as  to  anything  written." 

"She  is  to  leave  her  signature  and  will  be  furnished 
a  check-book,"  said  Mr.  Janison,  still  urbane  in  spite  of 
the  peculiar  attitude  which,  to  him,  Miss  Letcher  had 
strangely  assumed.  "She  may  draw  money  enough, 
from  time  to  time,  to  fit  herself  up  a  comfortable  home, 
educate  herself  and  her  brother,  if  she  shall  so  desire, 
and  provide  any  necessaries  for  the  welfare  of  her  uncle. 
She  has  been  requested  to  consult  with  us  in  these  mat- 
ters, and  she  will  always  find  some  one  to  advise  with 
when  she  calls.  Her  checks  to  the  extent  of  three  hun- 
dred dollars  a  month  will  be  honored  without  question. 
Sums  for  a  larger  amount  will  be  discussed  with  us." 

"That's  liberal,"  said  Jacob  Roth. 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  consult  you,  sir,"  said  Maggie,  now 
tearful.  "May  the  Holy  Mother  bless  a  good  man  and 
a  kindly  man  and  an  honest  man!  You'll  tell  him  so, 
sir,  for  me  ?" 

"You  can  probably  tell  him  so  yourself,"  said  Mr. 
Janison,  evidently  enjoying  this  unusual  piece  of  busi- 
ness in  the  routine  that  engaged  him.  "Senator  Tree- 
mon  is  sailing  for  England  soon,  and  will  be  much  pressed 
for  time,  as  he  tells  me,  before  he  goes.  But  he  will 
hardly  abandon  the  beneficiaries  of  a  trust  like  this 
wholly  to  our  hands.  I  will  make  due  report  of  this 
visit." 

"And  you  can  tell  him  for  me,"  said  Jacob  Roth,  ris- 
ing, and  shaking  his  finger  deliberately,  "that  he's  all 

144 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

right.  There's  something  about  this  I  don't  understand, 
but  on  its  face  it  looks  good.  I've  known  him  from  a 
boy,  and  while  he's  in  the  mining  business,  I  never 
heard  of  no  Beechy  with  whom  he's  so  intimate.  But 
then  I've  been  away  a  long  time,  and  lots  of  things  can 
happen  to  him  that  I  don't  know  about." 

A  clerk  came  and  presented  a  slip,  upon  which  Maggie 
wrote  her  name  in  large,  round  letters,  and  he  then  pre- 
sented her  with  a  check-book. 

"Some  money  now?"  inquired  Mr.  Janison. 

"Oh,  Lord,  no!"  And  Maggie  glanced  about  her, 
awed  for  the  first  time.  She  had  an  impression  that  it 
would  be  wrong,  not  to  say  unlady-like,  to  show  haste 
with  an  institution  that  had  treated  her  with  such  con- 
sideration. 

"At  your  pleasure,"  said  Mr.  Janison,  still  smiling. 
"Good-day." 

He  was  lost  in  business  as  they  passed  from  his  office 
and  entered  the  long  aisle. 

"Well,  Maggie,"  said  Jacob  Roth,  when  they  were 
outside,  "you're  a  rich  woman,  and  no  mistake.  And 
who  would  have  thought  that  Marsh  Treemon  would 
have  done  it?" 

"You  brought  him  down,  Jake,"  said  Maggie,  speak- 
ing his  first  name  tenderly,  it  being  her  habit  to  call 
him  always  Mr.  Roth.  "You  shall  have  some  of  this 
money." 

Jacob  Roth  stopped,  reddening  angrily. 

"It's  the  first  time  I  ever  felt  like  slappin'  them  red 
cheeks  of  yours,"  he  said,  gruffly. 

Maggie  put  her  hands  to  her  face  and  burst  into  tears. 

"Everybody  is  so  kind  to  me,"  she  sobbed. 

"Lord,  child!"  exclaimed  Rose,  taking  hold  of  her, 
tears  now  in  her  own  eyes,  "how  can  anybody  help 
being  kind  to  you?  You  are  better  than  the  whole  lot 
of  us.  Jake  just  loves  you,  the  same  as  every  one  else." 

MS 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"Here,  what's  this?"  exclaimed  a  policeman,  step- 
ping up  to  the  group. 

"You  never  mind  what  this  is,"  replied  Jacob  Roth, 
roughly.  "Do  you  know  Dan  Magee?" 

The  officer  stared. 

"I  know  him,"  he  answered. 

"Well,  this  is  his  girl,  and  she's  had  some  luck  over 
at  the  bank.  It's  overcome  her.  that's  all.  Now,  you 
go  on." 

"Well,  don't  be  making  a  show  of  it  on  Broadway," 
said  the  officer,  with  a  laugh.  "I  know  you,  too,  Jacob 
Roth." 

"Oh,  you  do,  do  you?"  replied  the  big  iron- worker. 
"Then  call  a  cab  and  we'll  ride  off.  I  guess  we  can 
afford  it  now." 

The  policeman  whistled  to  a  passing  driver,  who  pulled 
his  vehicle  to  the  curb.  Jacob  Roth  helped  the  girls 
in,  while  the  policeman  pushed  back  the  curious  and 
gathering  crowd.  The  carriage  drove  away,  and  Maggie 
still  sobbed  in  Rose's  arms. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A    MODERN    WISE    WOMAN 

THE  days  passed,  and  Marshall  Treemon  lingered  in 
New  York.  A  healthy  Western  man  to  whom  activity 
had  been  life,  he  was  surprised  at  this  disposition  in  him- 
self. So  he  found  excuses,  as  the  erring  always  do,  pro- 
fessing to  believe  that  as  a  senator  he  was  studying  the 
conditions  of  the  country  from  the  vantage-point  of  its 
chiefest  city,  and  preparing  for  the  work  of  the  coming 
session.  And  then  he  smiled  within  himself  at  so  feeble 
a  subterfuge,  half  cynical  and  half  regretful  at  his  new 
and  strange  experience.  For  some  reason,  at  this  time, 
the  face  and  form  of  Rose  Letcher  rose  continually  in 
his  mind,  giving  him  moments  of  wonder  and  doubt. 
Did  it  mean  that,  having  won  for  the  present  his  political 
ambitions,  he  was  now  engrossed  with  the  subject  of 
marriage,  and  that  all  women  who  were  attractive  and 
appealed  to  him  possessed  a  new  significance  ?  He  had 
thought  of  this  recently,  being  much  with  Lucia  Harring- 
ton. He  found  it  true  that  the  presence  of  femininity 
soothed  him,  and  that  rare  something  that  hung  about 
it,  that  it  represented,  expressed,  or  exuded,  was  the 
one  solace  that  calmed  his  restless  hours.  In  order  and 
temper  he  was  at  sea.  He  struggled  with  new  thoughts, 
new  emotions,  and  found  himself  in  a  new  mental  field. 
Why  was  Rose  Letcher  so  different,  as  was  Lucia  Harring- 
ton, from  Victoria  Wemyss?  Was  it  her  striking  eyes, 
that  looked  through  him,  her  intense  manner,  the  grace 
of  her  form,  and  some  trick  or  charm  in  her  dark,  ova] 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

face?  Or  was  it  her  impassioned  oratory,  with  its 
rhythm  and  flow,  that  lingered  in  his  memory  like  a 
spell  because  it  was  an  appeal  to  him  within  his  own 
sphere  of  action?  No;  it  was  because  she  was  a  wom- 
an, young  and  beautiful,  only  the  more  so  by  reason  of 
her  intelligence  and  charm  in  this  especial  field,  and 
with  Victoria  in  his  mind  all  women  were  glorified.  And 
here  the  politician  of  practical  method  and  direction 
had  gone  to  poetry,  dreaming  at  night  of  the  manifold 
heavens  of  Mahomet,  each  a  realm  of  houris,  all  veritable 
fairylands  banked  with  flowers,  clouds,  and  color,  the 
glorious  spirits  of  each,  bearing  in  their  celestial  counte- 
nances a  resemblance  to  the  one  fair  and  adorable  image 
in  his  heart. 

Nearly  every  evening  he  saw  Lucia  Harrington,  and 
often  rode  with  her  in  the  afternoons.  He  was  idle, 
Launcelot  Duffield  was  much  engaged,  and  the  girl  in- 
vited him.  He  was  not  conscious  of  the  reason  for  her 
sudden  predilection  for  him,  but  in  truth  he  interested 
her,  with  his  generous  Western  manner,  his  easy  spirit 
of  candor,  and  a  certain  honest  dignity  that  revealed 
itself  in  his  passion  for  Victoria  Wemyss.  This  passion 
he  fancied  he  concealed,  but  it  was  as  plain  as  his  own 
erect  image  to  the  sophisticated  city  girl,  who  was  his 
grandmother  in  knowledge  of  the  realm  in  which  he  now 
groped  blindly. 

Lucia  Harrington's  society  was  engaging  enough  for 
a  wearied  man,  who  might  find  in  the  sympathy  of  a 
lovely  woman  a  certain  method  of  rest.  She  was  differ- 
ent in  style  and  person  from  Victoria  Wemyss.  Where 
Victoria  was  soft  and  gentle,  Lucia  was  apt  and  positive. 
Where  Victoria  retired,  Lucia  advanced.  Where  Vic- 
toria was  undecided,  Lucia  was  pronounced.  She  was 
a  blonde  with  the  characteristics  of  a  brunette.  Her 
eyes  sparkled,  her  teeth  shone,  her  laugh  rang.  She  had 
form  and  outline,  and  dressed  with  a  taste  and  distinc- 

148 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

tion  that  marked  her  in  any  assembly.  Victoria's  beauty 
was  felt ;  that  of  Lucia  struck.  But  to  every  man,  wom- 
an makes  a  different  appeal.  In  gesture,  in  tone,  in 
glance,  in  accent  that  may  caress  or  soothe,  there  is  a 
peculiar  witchery  that  touches  the  masculine  heart,  and 
Victoria's  self  had  spoken  to  Marshall  Treemon  in  a 
manner  that  had  reached  the  underlying  chords  of  his 
soul. 

While  he  did  not  make  Lucia  his  confidant,  the  theme 
was  nearly  always  of  her  English  friend.  He  invariably 
reached  it  in  some  manner,  and  clung  to  it  until  some 
circumstance  of  necessity  dismissed  it.  Lucia  was 
strong,  decided,  and  experienced,  but  in  this  matter  they 
had  a  common  topic,  and  discussed  it  fully.  On  his 
part,  he  was  not  slow  to  perceive  why  Launcelot  Duf- 
field  had  fixed  his  heart  on  the  girl  who  now  received 
him  so  kindly.  She  was  frank  and  open  almost  to  bold- 
ness, and  knew  things  and  men  with  the  wisdom  of  one 
who  had  seen  and  travelled  much.  Sham,  deceit,  and 
illusion  passed  her  by.  Living  at  the  centre,  and  know- 
ing Europe  as  well  as  Newport,  at  the  age  of  twenty-four 
she  surveyed  the  world  with  a  certain  cynicism  that  ap- 
pealed to  a  strong  masculine  nature.  He  knew  men  and 
things  also,  but  the  select  circle  at  Washington  and  his 
own  journeys  through  Europe  had  not  unfolded  the 
secrets  of  feminine  nature;  he  listened  to  her  with  a 
pleasure  that  his  open  demeanor  frankly  avowed,  and 
was  rewarded  by  her  friendship  in  consequence.  She 
got  some  inkling  of  his  troubled  state  outside  his  pas- 
sion, although  she  could  not  guess  its  meaning.  She 
knew  him  for  a  senator,  and  appreciated  his  high  place 
and  growing  importance.  Launcelot  Duffield  had  im- 
pressed her  as  to  this.  She  knew  that  the  politics  of  the 
day  with  which  he  had  to  do  were  heavily  charged,  but 
she  did  not  know  what  his  brief  and  peculiar  experience 
on  the  East  Side  had  taught  him.  He  did  not  speak  of 

149 


PURPLE   AND    HOMESPUN 

this.  He  had  fulfilled  there  a  difficult  duty  with  a 
magnanimity  that  satisfied  him,  but  the  nightmare  con- 
nected with  it  remained.  This  he  might  hope  to  con- 
quer, but  scarcely,  as  it  related  to  his  relations  with 
Victoria.  It  was  a  perplexity  in  his  mind  of  which 
Lucia  Harrington  could  know  nothing. 

To-day,  at  the  entrance  of  the  Waldorf,  he  awaited  an 
appointment  with  her.  The  hour  was  two,  and  scarcely 
had  he  consulted  his  watch  when  the  Harrington  au- 
tomobile swung  up  to  the  curb.  Lucia,  radiant  and 
smiling,  was  upon  the  back  seat,  and,  to  his  surprise, 
Launcelot  Duffield  sat  beside  her.  But  the  financier 
was  not  to  intrude.  The  great  vehicle  had  barely  paused 
before  the  man  of  energy  was  on  the  pavement. 

"Good  luck!"  he  exclaimed,  hurriedly.  "I  don't 
have  to  search  for  you  inside.  Punctuality  is  the  mother 
of  virtues.  Lucia  said  she  was  to  meet  you,  and  I 
wanted  a  word." 

Marshall  bowed  to  the  smiling  face  behind  the  thin 
veil. 

"You  may  go  for  your  ride,"  continued  Mr.  Duffield, 
"but  Lucia  is  to  bring  you  to  the  office  at  four.  The 
Midland  meeting  is  on,  and  we  want  you  there.  Ex- 
planations will  be  made  then;  I  have  no  time." 

"Are  we  to  ride  down,  first?"  asked  Marshall. 

"No.  You  may  go  with  Lucia,  and  devote  the  inter- 
vening period  to  gossip  and  folly.  Praise  Midas,  I  have 
outlived  the  period  of  folly!  I  can  think  better  in  a 
cab,  and  will  get  one  here.  At  four,  prompt.  Good- 
bye." 

He  hurried  off,  and  as  Marshall  seated  himself  beside 
Lucia,  Mr.  Duffield  climbed  into  a  hansom  and  was 
driven  rapidly  down  Fifth  Avenue. 

Without  instruction,  as  though  previously  directed, 
the  chauffeur  swung  also  into  the  Avenue  and  whirled 
north  in  the  direction  of  Central  Park. 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"Is  it  true  that  you  are  going  to  England,  as  Launce- 
lot  said?"  asked  Lucia,  almost  immediately. 

"I  have  not  definitely  decided,"  he  answered,  with  a 
return  of  the  irresolution  that  had  of  late  earned  his  con- 
tempt for  himself;  "but  I  think  so." 

"Is  it  business  or  pleasure?" 

"It  is  business.     I  have  little  time  for  pleasure." 

He  would  have  been  surprised  if  he  had  suddenly 
thought  how  little  truth  there  was  in  this  statement. 
He  did  have  little  time  for  pleasure,  and  because  this 
was  so,  such  an  answer  had  become  habitual  to  him.  He 
did  not  realize  the  falsity  of  his  reply,  because,  generally, 
it  was  so  true. 

" I  live  in  that  atmosphere,"  she  said.  "Business  does 
not  become  a  man.  I  should  think  you  would  be  con- 
tent to  be  a  senator." 

"That  is  business  of  a  most  serious  character,"  he  re- 
plied, smiling.  "Since  the  magazines  are  charging  us 
with  treason  and  the  papers  want  to  elect  us  by  popular 
vote,  it  has  become  very  serious.  But,  really,  I  begin 
to  tire  of  politics." 

' '  Nonsense ! ' '  she  exclaimed.  ' '  Politics  makes  the  only 
position  we  can  have  in  this  country.  '  Mrs.  Senator ' 
here  should  rank  with  a  duchess  in  England.  The 
Senate  is  where  rich  men  want  to  go  when  they  retire, 
and  you  get  there  to  begin  with!" 

She  was  bright  and  spirited  to-day.  The  perfume 
from  her  delicate  garments  hung  about  the  interior  of 
the  car,  and  stimulated  his  nostrils  in  the  breeze  which 
the  passage  of  the  vehicle  made  through  the  quick 
air. 

"  If  business  should  pall  on  you  also,"  she  said,  "there's 
but  one  refuge  left;  and  that's  a  dangerous  refuge, 
fraught  with  all  sorts  of  possibilities." 

"Do  you  mean  love?"  he  suggested,  with  a  laugh. 

"I  mean  love,"  she  replied.     "Will  you  see  Victoria?" 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"I  trust  so,  and  yet  I've  no  pressing  invitation.  I 
know  Europe,  but  not  its  society." 

"It's  not  a  society  that  you  would  like,"  she  said. 
"It's  formal  and  cold.  You  Western  people  profess  to 
find  us  constrained.  You  would  not  understand  the 
English  at  all." 

"I  can  guess  that,"  he  said.  "It  was  better  in  Paris; 
but  when  I  visited  our  Ambassador  once,  in  London,  I 
had  a  chill.  He  took  me  to  a  lawn-party  at  the  palace, 
and  I  met  the  king  —  a  great  honor,  of  course.  His 
Majesty  gave  me  a  few  stiff  words  that  he  had  said  to 
fifty  visiting  congressmen  before  during  the  past  several 
years,  and  then  I  went  down  the  line  of  notables  for  a 
few  further  remarks,  and  I  was  expected  to  be  both 
interested  and  flattered.  I  met  two  or  three  ladies  who 
looked  me  over  coldly,  and  seemed  possessed  of  a  fear 
that  I  would  perform  some  trick  or  do  some  antic  seen 
in  the  Wild  West  Show.  I  think  I  know  the  status  of 
an  American  in  English  society." 

"It's  not  so  bad  for  a  woman,"  she  said,  amused. 
"Our  style  counts  for  something  there,  and  we  out- 
dress  them.  We  please  their  men,  and  that's  enough 
to  insure  us  some  sort  of  respect.  Over  there  the  wom- 
en do  what  the  men  tell  them." 

"Don't  they  do  that  here?"  he  asked.  "Remember 
that  I  am  unmarried  and  provincial.  I  think  I've  ob- 
served that  out  West  wives  are  reasonably  observant  of 
their  husband's  wishes." 

"Out  West  or  here,  it's  the  same,"  she  answered. 
"It's  our  way.  You  know  that  we  are  going  to  do  as  we 
please,  as  we  ought  to  do.  Victoria  remarked  it,  and  it 
interested  her  more  than  anything  else  to  be  observed 
in  American  life.  At  our  reception  she  talked  of  it  to 
all  the  men.  The  same  in  Newport — they  told  me  about 
it.  She's  to  marry  her  cousin,  Captain  Algeron  Travers." 

"Cousins  marry  in  England,  I  believe?" 
152 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"Cousins  marry  here,  for  that  matter,  as  you  know. 
But  Captain  Travers  is  only  a  half- cousin." 

"Did  you  ever  meet  him?" 

"Yes." 

Marshall  Treemon  longed  to  ask  her  about  him,  but 
hesitated.  It  was  not  a  subject  which  he  discussed  with 
Victoria  at  all.  But  Captain  Algeron  Travers  lived  in 
his  mind  with  a  persistency  only  equalled  by  his  thought 
of  Victoria  herself. 

"She  did  not  tell  me  she  was  engaged  to  marry  him," 
he  ventured,  finally.  "Really,  I  understood  that  it  was 
not  the  case." 

"She  told  me  that  there  was  no  formal  engagement 
between  them,"  replied  Lucia,  "but  they  have  known 
each  other  since  they  were  children,  and  a  marriage 
there  is  desired  by  all  the  relatives.  I  know  Lady  Dar- 
row,  Victoria's  aunt.  Victoria  is  to  inherit  her  estate, 
and  Lady  Darrow  wishes  the  marriage.  They  are  not 
engaged,  but  Victoria  told  me  that  she  was  to  be  his 
wife." 

"When  you  were  over  there?" 

She  looked  at  him  oddly. 

"No!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  pretty  emphasis.  "At 
Washington — while  she  was  here." 

"Just  prior  to  her  sailing?"  he  persisted. 

"Of  course.  And  her  father  wishes  it.  She  is  in 
love  with  him,  and  has  always  been." 

He  laughed,  averting  his  face  as  though  something 
had  attracted  his  attention  as  they  whirled  past. 

"That  ought  to  settle  it,  irrespective  of  the  wishes  of 
all  the  relatives  on  earth,"  he  said.  "I  shall  hope  to 
congratulate  her  if  I  see  her." 

"You  must  see  her,"  said  Lucia,  "if  you  go." 

"If  you  request  it,  I  shall  make  the  effort." 

"That's  good  of  you,  now,"  she  replied,  "for  she  is, 
as  you  know,  one  of  my  dearest  friends.  And  you  will 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

meet  Captain  Travers,  too,  and  see  what  is  in  store  for 
her.     Really,"  and  she  laughed,  "I  do  not  envy  her." 

"Tell  me  of  him,"  he  said.  "I  should  like  to  know 
what  impression  the  man  of  Miss  Wemyss's  choice  would 
make  upon  a  hale  and  hearty  American  girl." 

"I  am  hale  and  hearty  enough,"  she  replied,  smiling 
at  him  and  his  manner  of  speech,  "if  that  constitutes 
me  a  judge.  Well,  he  is  a  lank,  drawling,  awkward 
blond,  slow  of  speech,  large  of  feet,  and  red  of  features, 
too.  He  drinks  too  much  and  talks  too  little,  because 
he  cannot  talk  at  all.  He  has  no  opinion  of  women,  is 
selfish,  like  all  Englishmen  when  they  have  wives  to 
exhibit  this  particularly  English  characteristic  to,  and 
I  would  not  marry  him  if  he  were  the  Prince  of 
Wales." 

Marshall  Treemon  leaned  back,  amused  and  pleased. 

"You  live  in  America,"  he  said.  "You  might  con- 
sider the  expedient  of  divorce.  But  Victoria  Wemyss 
lives  in  England,  where  it  is  not  a  question." 

"It's  not  a  question  here,"  she  responded,  with  a 
laugh.  "We  only  think  it  is.  Don't  you  make  the  mis- 
take of  entering  the  holy  estate  in  that  view.  I  know 
scores  and  scores  of  people  who  are  married  and  live 
happily  together;  in  fact,  my  acquaintance  is  limited 
with  those  who  do  not." 

"The  statistics  are  against  you." 

"They  are  not.  We  only  think  they  are,  again. 
Marriage  is  a  business  partnership,  pure  and  simple,  and 
when  men  come  to  be  as  fair  with  their  wives  as  they 
are  with  each  other,  the  problem  will  disappear.  Then 
you  exalted  ones,  who  control  the  destiny  of  nations, 
can  legislate  about  it  rationally.  It's  always  a  matter  of 
sentiment.  I  could  hear  that  my  washerwoman  has 
divorced  her  husband  without  any  qualms.  When  two 
people  go  apart,  and  we  learn  that  both  are  satisfied, 
our  sympathies  are  not  enlisted,  however  much,  from 

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PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

the  church  view,  we  question  the  morality  of  the  separa- 
tion." 

"That  is  true,"  he  said,  in  sudden  depression.  "It's 
the  point  of  view.  We  sympathize  only  with  the  phys- 
ical ills  of  those  about  us — their  definite  troubles.  The 
pangs  of  despised  love  have  always  been  the  subject  of 
ridicule." 

"Surely,"  she  mocked,  her  eyes  merry.  "We  cannot 
possibly  know  how  much  it  hurts." 

"Not  unless  you  have  felt  it  yourself." 

"Our  capacity  differs,"  and  she  laughed  now.  "Take, 
for  instance,  our  international  marriages.  Nearly  al- 
ways, where  they  have  been  prominent,  they  have  been 
unfortunate.  Who  can  tell  the  heart-burnings,  the 
wounded  pride,  the  disappointed  ambition,  and  the 
crushed  hopes  that  make  up  the  real  misery  they  have 
entailed  for  the  woman.  We  jeer  in  the  conclusion  that 
she  has  been  served  right." 

"A  cruel  conclusion,"  he  said,  bluntly.  "How  about 
it  where  the  man  marries  the  woman?" 

"An  American — for  instance?" 

"Yes." 

"There  have  been  no  exalted  cases;  generally  the 
motive  is  lacking.  I  wouldn't  dare  suspect  that  you 
are  in  any  way  referring  to  yourself,  and  yet — we've 
been  talking  of  Victoria — and  you  are  going  to  Eng- 
land." 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ventured,  and  he  winced 
perceptibly. 

"You  are  too  good!"  And  he  smiled  heroically. 
"A  true  case  of  womanly  sympathy — where  we  cannot 
possibly  know  how  much  it  hurts.  Well?" 

"Well!"  she  echoed,  mockingly,  again.  "  They  should 
turn  out  happily.  Why  not?  The  woman  is  plastic — 
you  are  fond  of  saying.  All  nations  have  intermarried, 
and  the  woman  is  quick  to  adapt  herself." 

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PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"Take  the  extreme  case,  and  dare  to  think  of  Victoria 
Wemyss  and  myself — what  would  you  say  there?" 

"Ah!"  And  she  smiled  wickedly.  "I  should  say 
that  the  divorce  question  applies — and  grows  large  and 
round — with  or  without  sentiment.  But  I  should  say 
you  were  foolish,  this  being  an  extreme  case.  Firstly, 
because  she  is  to  marry  her  cousin;  secondly,  because 
she's  an  ambassador's  daughter  and  an  earl's  daughter. 
England  is  traditional  and  conventional;  you  are  not  a 
lord,  and  she's  as  unfit  to  be  the  wife  of  an  American 
senator  from  the  West  as  though  she  were  black  and 
had  been  born  in  Senegambia.  It  isn't  a  reflection,  it's 
a  fact.  America  has  its  conventions  now  as  definitely 
as  England,  and  while  a  highly  bred  English  woman 
such  as  Victoria  might  bridge  the  gap  by  going  into 
servitude  and  buying  tolerance  with  millions  either  for 
herself  here  or  her  husband  there,  a  man  to  cross  it  must 
do  worse  than  enslave  himself :  he  must  either  de- 
stroy the  woman  or  destroy  himself  in  any  esteem  he 
might  in  the  beginning  arouse  in  her.  Dost  like  the 
picture?" 

Her  words  cut  to  the  bone.  As  he  listened  his  heart 
went  down  and  down  until  it  disappeared.  His  first 
impulse  was  to  hug  the  fox  to  his  side,  but  he  could  not 
doubt  that  she  had  seen  the  truth  and  in  immediate 
kindness  applied  the  knife.  When  he  could  find  voice 
he  spoke. 

"No,  I  do  not,"  he  said.  "It  is  an  abominable  pict- 
ure: without  perspective,  and  the  color  laid  on  in  scarlet 
in  great  blotches  in  the  foreground.  But  since  it  is  true, 
perhaps  I  had  better  put  forth  no  tender  leaves  of  hope. 
The  third  day  comes  a  frost — I'll  be  content  with  my 
senatorship." 

"And  your  country."     She  laughed.     "Yes." 

Lucia  emulated  the  punctuality  lauded  by  Launce- 
lot  Duffield.  At  four  o'clock  exactly  the  great  vehicle 

156 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

turned  eastward  from  Trinity  Church  and  glided  down 
the  asphalt  of  Wall  Street,  depositing  Marshall  Treemon 
upon  the  sidewalk  near  Broad,  where  he  stood  for  a 
moment  to  watch  Lucia  wave  him  a  farewell  as  she 
whirled  away. 


CHAPTER  XV 

A    MODERN    GREAT    MAN 

WHEN  Marshall  Treemon  entered  the  office  of  Launce- 
lot  Duffield  he  was  met  by  a  clerk  who  conducted  him 
through  several  small  rooms  into  a  larger  one,  where  the 
financier  was  seated  at  a  table  in  company  with  several 
gentlemen.  With  most  of  them  Marshall  Treemon  was 
acquainted.  He  had  met  them  from  time  to  time  in  the 
course  of  his  various  journeys  to  New  York.  One  was 
now  presented  as  Mr.  George  Wellington  Fox,  and  Mar- 
shall Treemon  knew  him  instantly  as  a  lawyer  of  national 
repute,  an  authority  upon  the  matter  of  such  corporate 
interests  as  were  supposed  to  be  fostered  in  Wall  Street. 
The  greetings  over,  Mr.  Duffield  motioned  his  guest  to 
a  seat  at  the  table,  and  drew  out  his  watch. 

"Seven  minutes  late,"  he  said.  "But  this  dereliction 
I  shall  charge  up  to  the  lady  who  had  you  in  custody." 

"A  pleasant  custody,"  said  Marshall  Treemon,  smiling. 

"Thanks!  Thanks!"  said  his  friend,  lifting  his  hands 
with  a  gesture  alike  humorous  and  boisterous,  indicative 
of  his  forceful  character.  "All  her  qualities  and  fas- 
cinations are  known.  But  we  will  now  to  business. 
You  are  a  stockholder  in  the  Interstate  Air  Line,  which 
parallels  the  Midland  Central?" 

"Modestly,  yes." 

"Huh!  A  good  reply,  in  view  of  what  we  know  about 
it.  If  you  are  as  modestly  in  other  good  things  I  con- 
gratulate you.  Well,  we  are  arranging  a  consolidation 
of  these  interests.  The  National  Mutual  Iron  Company, 

158 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

which,  among  other  property,  owns  iron  lands  and  sever- 
al steel  plants,  with  all  of  which  you  are  familiar,  has 
exchanged  a  portion  of  its  stock  for  a  majority  of  the 
stock  of  both  roads.  We  shall  clear  the  business  of  both 
in  the  offices  of  the  Iron  Company.  This  very  profitable 
arrangement  will  justify  a  further  issue  of  securities  for 
the  Iron  Company,  and  we  have  put  you  down  for  a 
block  of  the  stock  at  attractive  figures.  You  will  take 
it,  old  man,  doubtless?" 

"If  I  approve  the  method  of  consolidation  after  I 
have  had  a  chance  to  look  into  it — yes,"  said  Marshall 
Treemon,  after  a  moment  of  hesitation. 

Launcelot  Duffield  looked  surprised — almost  hurt. 
This  display  of  emotion  or  any  emotion  was  but  tempo- 
rary. He  immediately  rose  to  the  occasion,  and  stayed 
there. 

' '  Good ! "  he  said.  ' '  We  know  what  you  have  in  mind. 
But  the  National  Mutual  Iron  Company  is  an  exist- 
ing institution  of  established  character.  This  is  not 
another  Securities  case,  as  I  have  had  occasion  to  in- 
timate to  you  before.  Mr.  Fox  has  had  it  in  charge,  and 
it  will  hold  water." 

"How  much  water?" 

"Don't  jest,  Senator,  on  so  serious  a  subject.  I  laid 
myself  so  entirely  open  that  a  child  should  not  have 
taken  advantage  of  it.  I  don't  happen  to  know  any- 
thing about  watered  stock.  The  subject  is  political, 
foolish,  and  socialistic.  In  the  matter  of  this  deal,  things 
are  as  they  should  be,  except  that  the  iron- workers  with 
the  company  threaten  a  strike  on  the  question  of  wages. 
At  this  time  we  don't  like  this  feeling." 

Marshall  Treemon  nodded. 

"We  don't  want  to  increase  our  expenses  either,  and 
we  have  to  exercise  both  business  judgment  and  dis- 
cretion. Now,  strikes  are  bad  things.  They  are  a  curse 
to  both  labor  and  capital,  for  they  affront  capital  and 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

degrade  labor;  but  chiefly  they're  a  curse  to  labor. 
They  react  on  the  innocent,  for  they  are  illogical.  A 
strike  is  coercive.  It's  an  attempt  to  wring  an  unwilling 
concession  by  force  from  an  employer  who  has  a  basic 
legal  right  not  to  grant  it.  I  need  scarcely  argue  this 
matter  with  you." 

"No,"  said  Marshall  Treemon,  looking  about  at  the 
silent  assembly  of  figures.  "I  think  not." 

"An  officer  of  one  of  our  trust  companies,  Mr.  Janison, 
tells  us  that  in  connection  with  a  recent  trust  which  you 
established,  the  nature  of  which  we  know  nothing  of, 
you  disclose  some  relationship  with  a  person  named 
Jacob  Roth.  This  man  Roth  is  an  individual  to  be 
suppressed;  he  is  a  nuisance.  But  he's  at  the  head  of 
one  of  the  unions,  and  a  fellow  of  large  influence  with  the 
workmen." 

"I  know  him,"  said  Marshall  Treemon.  "I've  known 
him  for  years.  When  I  began,  in  my  youth,  he  was  an 
older  boy  of  my  native  town.  I  haven't  seen  much  of 
him  of  late,  naturally,  and  I'm  not  certain  of  the  influence 
I  can  exert  with  him." 

He  frowned  as  he  thought  about  the  matter,  con- 
tinuing: 

"I  think,  myself,  that  you  will  find  him  an  unruly 
person.  He's  a  good  man  in  bad  hands."  He  frowned 
again,  his  annoyance  increasing.  "I  recently  had  some 
business  of  a  legal  nature  with  some  poor  people  whom 
Roth  knew." 

"All  this  is  a  mere  incident,  my  dear  fellow,"  con- 
tinued Launcelot.  "There  are  graver  matters.  You 
are  now  a  senator,  you  are  our  friend,  and  associated 
with  us.  You  are  likewise  a  friend  of  the  President." 

"That  is  a  social  connection  purely,"  said  Marshall 
Treemon. 

"Fortunately,  yes.  Social  connections  are  most  im- 
portant. We  know  that." 

1 60 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"You  don't  think  I  would  trade  on  it?"  said  Marshall 
Treemon,  reddening. 

"I  think  you  would — yes,"  continued  Launcelot  Duf- 
field,  quietly.  "I  would — and  you  should,  if  you  can 
thereby  do  all  your  fellows  a  service.  This  is  a  trading 
country,  and  a  man's  connections  are  all  he  has.  I 
wouldn't  give  much  for  life  without  mine.  We  want  to 
know  where  you  stand." 

"And  I  want  to  know  what  you  mean?"  replied  Mar- 
shall Treemon,  looking  at  him  squarely,  once  more  ob- 
servant of  the  quiet  faces  about  him  and  the  polite  at- 
tention of  Mr.  Fox.  "Frankly,  I  don't  think  it  is  any 
of  your  business.  This  is  a  new  phase  in  my  political 
career,  and — pardon  me,  I  don't  represent  you — and 
my  good  friends  here;  and  this  is  also  a  new  situation 
for  me.  I'll  not  resent  it,  for  I  can  usually  care  for  my- 
self under  most  circumstances.  But  I  scarcely  think 
that  this  is  either  generous  or  candid  on  your  part." 

"Candid  on  the  part  of  a  friend  ?"  questioned  Launce- 
lot Duffield,  unruffled.  "Every  honest  senator  repre- 
sents his  country  and  the  people,  and,  presumably,  all 
the  people,  and  we  think  you  are  a  strong  man.  We  are 
the  country  and  the  people,  and,  you  will  admit,  pretty 
influential  people.  I  would  not  have  ventured  to  dis- 
cuss this  matter  with  you  privately,  and  I  thought  it 
more  than  candid  to  bring  about  its  consideration  among 
men  with  whom,  in  the  future,  you  will  probably  have 
most  to  deal.  There  are  witnesses  enough  present  to 
see  that  there  will  be  no  injustice  done  you.  Upon  my 
own  part,  having  no  doubt  regarding  you,  I  was  willing 
to  bring  this  subject  up,  without  warning,  in  any  com- 
pany. We  need  you,  we  have  a  right  to  you,  and  that 
is  my  excuse." 

"In  that  view  then,  gentlemen,"  said  Marshall  Tree- 
men,  after  a  pause,  "I  am  willing  to  speak  out.  To 
begin,  then,  until  I  know  your  minds  I  must  be  general, 

161 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

perhaps  trite ;  I  shall  stand  for  my  duty  wherever  I  see 
it,  and  I  will  do  it,  unhesitatingly,  to  the  best  of  what- 
ever ability  I  may  have." 

"You  haven't  fully  understood  me,  old  friend,"  said 
Launcelot  Duffield,  easily.  "No  man  here  doubts  that. 
We  believe  that  every  one  of  your  senatorial  associates 
will  say  the  same  thing,  and  mean  it,  too.  But  we 
would  like  to  know,  as  regards  ourselves,  what  you  deem 
your  duty  to  be,  because  we  know  you  to  possess  an 
ability  out  of  the  ordinary.  Pardon  me  "  —  and  he 
lifted  his  hand — "that  is  not  flattery — it's  business. 
That's  why  we  need  you." 

Marshall  Treemon  settled  himself  back  in  his  chair 
with  a  laugh.  The  faces  around  remained  impassive, 
and  Mr.  Fox  kept  his  inscrutable  smile.  Launcelot 
Duffield,  with  his  elbows  upon  the  table  and  his  hands 
clasped,  regarded  him  with  a  friendly  and  even  an 
affectionate  air. 

"Very  well,  my  friends,"  said  Marshall  Treemon. 
"Since  you  so  rate  me,  and  this  is  to  be  a  consultation 
in  the  public  interest,  I'm  willing  to  discuss  it  with  you 
as  a  senator.  But,  I  repeat,  this  is  a  phase  of  Wall 
Street  with  which  I  am  not  familiar.  It  was  worth  being 
elected  to  have  come  in  contact  with  it." 

"It's  not  a  phase  of  Wall  Street,  nor  is  it  an  unusual 
phase.  It  is  a  mere  matter  of  a  relation  to  men  whose 
position  and  interests  make  them  nearly  as  public  as 
yourself.  It  grows  entirely  out  of  my  personal  friend- 
ship for  you  and  my  confidence  in  you.  I  have  made 
representations  with  reference  to  you  to  these  gentle- 
men ;  you  owe  me  nothing,  but  I  expect  to  develop  the 
truth  of  what  I  have  said  out  of  my  regard  for  you." 

Marshall  Treemon  made  no  reply.  He  thought  of 
Lucia,  of  Victoria  Wemyss,  of  his  office,  the  President, 
and  all  the  interests  he  had  fostered  and  conserved;  of 
the  social  consideration  he  had  received,  of  the  power 

162 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

and  influence  that  these  men  exerted,  and  his  subsequent 
career  in  connection  therewith.  He  desired  to  forfeit 
nothing,  but  least  of  all  would  he  forfeit  his  honor  and 
his  self-respect.  He  had  found  none  of  his  business 
associates  unworthy,  and  he  had  seen  no  evidence  of 
any  lack  of  character  in  any  of  the  men  present  during 
his  association  with  them.  His  ideals  had  been  high, 
and  they  were  unimpaired.  During  his  long  service  at 
Washington  no  improper  influence  had  ever  sought  him. 
He  had  heard  of  such  influences,  and  had  laughed  at 
them;  with  honest  pride  he  had  scorned  the  rumors, 
which  he  had  regarded  as  a  part  of  the  partisan  political 
warfare  of  the  parties.  He  was  too  much  of  a  politician 
and  too  well  informed  not  to  know  that  in  the  legisla- 
tures of  the  various  States  some  members  were  corrupt, 
and  that  some  urged  measures  for  reasons  of  personal 
advantage;  but  he  had  believed  such  instances  to  be 
rare,  and  the  careers  of  such  men  short.  He  believed 
that  the  underlying  motives  of  all  congressional  action 
was  patriotic  and  pure,  aside  from  the  prejudices  that 
attached  to  partisanship.  All  personal  consideration  in 
connection  with  his  office  he  had  despised,  and  he  be- 
lieved that  he  had  demonstrated  for  all  his  associates 
that  in  these  premises  the  political  body  of  which  he 
had  been  a  part  was  clean.  He  listened,  therefore,  with 
an  awakened  interest,  nerved  now  to  sustain  this  view 
to  the  full  extent  of  both  his  dignity  and  his  character. 
He  was  surprised  at  the  attitude  of  his  friend,  but  he 
no  longer  resented  it. 

"I  hope  you  may  correct  me  in  any  observation  that 
I  may  make  to  which  you  dissent,"  went  on  Launcelot 
Duffield.  "As  your  friend,  I  am  glad  to  give  you  an 
opportunity  to  get  acquainted  with  the  views  of  certain 
men  down  here.  They  have  been  pretty  generally  mis- 
judged in  such  matters  as  these,  and  they've  a  right  to 
be  correctly  understood." 

163 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"  7  have  not  misjudged  them,"  said  Marshall  Treemon. 

"All  the  better,"  rejoined  Launcelot  Duffield.  "You 
will  therefore  be  able  to  serve  them  all  the  better.  You 
are  not  to  escape — as  doubtless  you  do  not  wish  to  es- 
cape— your  full  responsibility  as  a  senator." 

"Why  have  you  selected  the  Senate  as  the  body 
upon  which  to  focus  your  views?"  asked  Marshall  Tree- 
mon, impatiently. 

"Because  it's  there  that  the  interests  of  all  the  people 
can  be  best  seen  and  served,"  was  the  reply.  "It  was 
there  that  the  Sherman  Law  originated — a  log  across 
the  pathway  of  all  desirable  effort  in  this  country ;  a  law 
that  negatives  the  Constitution,  because  it  minimizes 
personal  effort;  a  socialistic  measure  which  seeks  to  halt 
progress,  because  indolence  and  ignorance  envy  it;  a 
law  which  terrified  the  Supreme  Court,  and  when  its  pro- 
visions confronted  them  in  the  late  lamented  Securities 
case  made  each  justice  look  at  the  others,  and  then  put 
his  head  down,  while  one  read  the  sustaining  decision 
in  a  low  voice;  a  law  which,  if  enforced,  would  bring 
everything  to  a  full  stop.  It's  there  that  the  tariff  has 
always  to  fight  for  itself,  and  there  the  income  tax  and 
the  inheritance  tax  will  have  to  be  met  and  defeated  to 
prevent  another  Boston  tea  party." 

"The  great  country  at  large  will  probably  continue  to 
grow  grain  and  fatten  cattle  in  spite  of  all  this,"  said 
Marshall  Treemon. 

He  was  instantly  uneasy  and  sorry  for  his  speech. 
Launcelot  Duffield  did  not  reply  at  once,  but  looked  at 
him  in  a  singular  manner.  Marshall  Treemon  knew  that 
he  hesitated  as  one  who,  for  the  first  time,  doubts  the 
valor  or  ability  of  an  antagonist.  Mr.  Fox  now  spoke. 

"If  the  great  country  does,"  he  said,  "we  will  con- 
tinue to  trade  in  them,  and  be  content.  But  we  think 
not.  We  think  an  incubus  on  the  great  energies  of  the 
country  sends  its  influence  to  the  roots.  We  cannot  dis- 

164 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

abuse  ourselves  of  the  idea  that  our  interests  depend  en- 
tirely upon  the  general  prosperity  with  which  we  deal. 
The  cities  have  nothing  to  exploit  but  the  country,  and 
if  they  ruin  it  they  ruin  themselves.  This  is  so  evident 
that  to  deny  it  is  a  folly.  If  we  dominate  the  country — 
a  charge  which  reflects  greatly  upon  a  free  people,  and 
which  we  deny — we  want  the  subject  of  taxation  rich, 
in  order  that  we  may  realize  on  our  efforts." 

"We  are  not  at  odds  there,  gentlemen,  if  we  believe 
in  each  other,"  said  Marshall  Treemon,  quietly,  with  the 
impression  that  Mr.  Fox  might  justify  his  reputation. 
"I  am  perfectly  willing  to  work  for  all  interests." 

"I  thought  so,"  said  Launcelot  Duffield.  "When  the 
average  man  gets  in  the  Senate,  while  he  may  bring  there 
an  opinion  on  the  tariff,  the  chief  duty  that  confronts 
him  is  to  vote  on  appropriations.  On  all  other  ques- 
tions he's  usually  swayed  by  the  views  or  prejudices  of 
the  community  from  which  he  comes.  Generally  he 
votes  with  his  party  upon  measures  which  a  few  strong 
and  dominant  men  originate.  And  these  measures  are 
the  very  essence  of  things  that  underlie  the  prosperity  of 
all  the  country,  and  we,  and  men  like  us  throughout  all 
the  country,  are  responsible  for  them.  They  are  mat- 
ters which  interest  us  because  our  operations  cover  the 
country  at  large.  We  want  you  to  lead,  Senator  Tree- 
mon. We  offer  you  a  career  as  powerful  as  any  man 
ever  entered  upon  in  the  Senate.  I  state  this  as  an 
evidence  of  my  friendship,  and  that's  the  purpose  of 
this  meeting.  If  you've  ambitions,  we  can  realize  them 
for  you.  If  you've  laid  any  plans  which  involve  your 
future,  they  can  be  best  won  by  co-operation  with  us." 

Marshall  Treemon  hesitated.  The  situation  was  grow- 
ing large  for  him.  Even  yet  he  could  not  determine  as 
to  the  integrity  of  his  friend.  The  affirmative  had  been 
shrewdly  put,  and  he  wondered  whether  the  popular 
impression  of  Wall  Street  and  its  methods  was  a  correct 

165 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

impression — whether  he  was  being  offered  a  bribe  or  a 
mission. 

"Is  there  an  alternative,  gentlemen?"  he  asked. 

"If  Mr.  Duffield  has  mistaken  you,  Senator,  we  should 
say — yes,"  replied  Mr.  Fox,  with  his  peculiar  smile. 

"I  trust  he  has  not  mistaken  me,"  said  Marshall  Tree- 
mon,  gravely,  now  convinced.  "I  do  not  know  how  far 
you  expect  me  to  subscribe  to  your  views  of  the  Sherman 
Law,  the  tariff,  and  the  other  matters  which  you  believe 
you  understand  correctly.  I'll  subscribe  to  nothing  that 
my  judgment  cannot  indorse;  but  if  you  mean  that  I 
shall  co-operate  with  you  upon  all  measures  on  which 
we  can  agree,  Mr.  Duffield  might  have  been  assured  of 
that  beforehand.  While  I'm  a  party  man,  I'm  a  be- 
liever in  myself.  I  think  I  know  the  aspirations  of  this 
country;  I  mean  to  stand  for  them  all." 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Launcelot  Duffield.  "I  expected 
nothing  less.  Always  there  must  be  some  people  in 
authority  who  will  fight  for  first  principles.  So  long  as 
we  have  ro cation  in  office,  popular  suffrage,  popular 
education,  and  a  government  without  arms  to  enforce 
arbitrary  measures  we  need  never  fear  oppression — there 
will  be  no  arbitrary  measures." 

Great  Caesar!  was  this  a  capitalist?  —  and  in  Wall 
Street?  Why,  Marshall  Treemon  knew  that  he  had 
heard  these  words  from  Rose  Letcher  in  the  ardor  of 
her  most  socialistic  exhortation.  Could  it  be  that  the 
serious  thought  of  both  interests,  capital  and  labor,  must 
focus  to  a  point,  and  must  the  effort  in  democratic  gov- 
ernment work  to  the  truth,  of  necessity,  because  the 
effort  was  sincere?  Life  was  waste,  effort  vain,  neces- 
saries and  luxuries  a  mere  matter  of  comparison  and 
point  of  view.  Perhaps,  after  all,  every  man  with  his 
face  set  in  the  right  direction  might  trust  to  propitious 
Heaven  to  guide  his  wandering  footsteps? 

"What  we  do  need  to  fear,"  continued  Launcelot 
166 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Duffield,  "are  the  measures  which  the  ignorant  majority 
may  unwisely  enact  into  laws.  Intelligence  must  de- 
feat all  this,  until  the  majority  is  educated  into  wisdom 
— the  logical  aim  of  this  republic.  Industry  and  in- 
telligence in  a  free  country  always  prosper.  Sloth  and 
idleness  always  envy  them.  Some  goal  is  the  end  of 
both  industry  and  effort,  and  no  law  should  halt  them 
by  denying  to  them  their  legitimate  reward.  The  other 
view,  the  socialistic  view,  is  the  doctrine  of  negation. 
It  denies  the  reward,  it  takes  the  premium  from  effort, 
and  bids  man  labor  for  sentiment  and  idealism  by  a 
lop-sided  interpretation  of  the  golden  rule.  The  Sher- 
man Law  is  an  organic  error,  and  a  thousand  others 
spring  from  it.  Let  us  keep  the  social  compact  as  we 
made  it,  confiscate  neither  property  nor  opportunity, 
protect  title  in  property,  and  legislate  in  favor  of  enter- 
prise and  not  against  it.  Thus  we  will  progress,  and 
not  otherwise.  That's  what  we  want  you  to  stand  for, 
Senator  Treemon;  for  us,  and  with  us.  We  want  your 
pledge  to  that  effect.  And  if  you  give  it,  we'll  give  you 
in  return  the  only  reward  a  man  like  you  can  accept  for 
the  performance  of  duty — our  gratitude,  our  faith,  and 
our  co-operation  in  the  common  interest — worth  some- 
thing to  a  Senator  from  the  "strongest  men  in  the 
country." 

"I  think  I  can  promise  that  much,  gentlemen,"  said 
Marshall  Treemon.  "I  think  we  may  be  allies  in  these 
premises." 

"Then  you  can  aid  us  in  the  matter  of  this  consolida- 
tion, which  we  have  reason  to  believe  will  be  antagonized 
at  Washington,"  said  Mr.  Fox,  quietly,  with  a  glance 
over  his  spectacles.  "A  wrong  impression  prevails 
down  there.  The  details  we  can  discuss  later.  I  con- 
gratulate Mr.  Duffield  on  this  pleasant  meeting.  I  hear 
you  are  going  abroad.  If  you  have  the  opportunity, 
drop  in  and  see  me  before  you  sail." 

167 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Launcelot  Duffield  rose,  and  took  his  friend's  arm  as 
the  party  prepared  to  disperse. 

"Senator  Treemon  is  going  with  me,  friends,"  he  said. 
"I  wanted  to  convince  you  that  we  had  a  safe  man  in 
this  gentleman  from  the  West.  We  have  serious  work 
to  do  the  coming  year.  Prices  are  declining  in  spite  of 
the  grain  -  growing  and  stock  -  fattening  theory.  Let's 
put  a  little  wisdom  into  what  we  do  at  Washington, 
and  make  impossible  tnose  modern  substitutes  for  war 
and  pestilence — the  panics." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   HIGHWAY   OF   LIFE 

IN  a  degree,  Marshall  Treemon's  irresolution  was  gone. 
He  had  fought  to  a  finish  the  question  of  a  journey  to 
Europe,  and  was  duly  vanquished.  It  was  not  the 
counsel  of  his  friend,  the  President,  jocular  and  half 
mocking,  nor  the  promptings  within  himself,  which  he 
had  not  been  able  to  still,  that  had  prevailed;  rather  it 
was  the  cauterizing  iron  that  Lucia  Harrington  had  set 
against  his  flesh,  the  scar  of  which  was  yet  inflamed  and 
quivering.  Under  the  pain  of  this  he  acted.  Capped 
and  equipped  for  travel,  he  leaned  over  the  rail  of  the 
steamer  Deutschland,  and  with  Sandy  Hook  fading  astern 
meditated  upon  his  voyage,  wondering  as  to  his  recep- 
tion on  the  other  side.  Subterfuge  to  the  winds,  his 
business  was  to  see  Victoria;  and  now  that  he  had  set 
his  hazard  on  the  die,  he  was  collected  enough  and  sober 
enough  to  consider  the  matter  with  something  like  his 
usual  calm  judgment.  With  the  reiterative  impotency 
of  the  man  in  love,  he  went  over  the  old  ground  once 
more.  Was  it  Victoria — or  his  thirty-six  years  of  age, 
with  the  awakened  desire  for  marriage?  And,  if  Vic- 
toria, what  was  there  within  her  that  charmed  away  his 
reason  and  led  him  on  a  hopeless  journey  to  an  embar- 
rassing and  foolish  conclusion?  The  words  of  Lucia, 
within  a  province  so  essentially  a  woman's,  stifled  pro- 
test. In  spite  of  which  he  was  perversely  bent  upon  a 
foolish  quest — to  open  a  Pandora  box  of  modern  structure 
and  significance.  He  might  open  it  for  himself,  since  the 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

folly  was  his — but  the  injustice  to  Victoria?  He  had 
nothing  to  offer  against  the  doubt  and  perplexity  which 
might  beset  her  at  his  coming.  The  words  of  Lucia 
Harrington  had  made  this  clear.  He  was  not  a  sheep 
farmer,  to  take  her  to  a  ranch  and  solitude  in  Australia. 
He  was  not  a  soldier,  to  seek  with  her  in  India  or  Egypt 
some  common  ground  with  which  they  were  both  un- 
familiar, where  the  process  of  union  could  grow  out  of 
conditions  strange  to  each.  He  was  a  senator,  but  first 
he  was  a  lawyer  of  a  definite  environment,  and  she  a 
baronet's  daughter  of  an  alien  country.  The  furtherest 
advance  he  could  imagine  for  himself  in  some  effort  to 
meet  her  was  a  residence  in  New  York,  and  this  meant 
a  sacrifice  of  his  political  prospects  in  an  admitted  field 
of  usefulness.  The  case  was  hopeless,  but  there  was  the 
conclusion  to  which  he  had  arrived:  he  might  follow  the 
cauterizing  process  with  the  opiate;  meet  her  face  to 
face  again,  bring  the  cruel  matter  to  a  crisis,  understand 
from  her  definitely  the  folly  of  his  dream,  and  have  her 
put  an  end  to  it.  Then  he  might  take  up  the  duties  of 
life  once  more,  and  perhaps  (he  smiled  grimly  at  himself), 
his  awakened  sensibilities,  calmed  by  the  rebuke  which 
her  placid  and  kindly  judgment  would  administer,  might 
find  another  though  distant  city  of  refuge  for  shelter 
and  consolation. 

He  roused  himself,  cast  a  lingering  glance  over  the 
dancing  water  at  the  line  of  receding  shore,  now  a  faint 
blur  on  the  horizon,  and,  thrusting  his  hands  in  his  pock- 
ets, walked  forward  along  the  deck.  The  ship  was  not 
crowded.  At  this  season  only  those  who  could  plead 
business,  not  such  as  his,  were  bound  outward.  The 
line  of  steamer-chairs  was  a  single  one,  with  ample  space 
between  for  strollers.  The  voyage  just  begun,  the  bulk 
of  the  passengers  were  below  arranging  their  cabins  and 
putting  up  their  effects  for  the  seven  days  of  the  passage. 
He  had  not  looked  at  the  ship's  register,  and  knew  of  no 

170 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

friend  on  board.  When,  therefore,  he  heard  his  name 
spoken  in  a  sharp,  clear  voice,  he  started,  halting  in  front 
of  a  woman  reclining  in  her  chair  against  her  steamer- 
rug,  not  yet  arranged,  but  thrown  carelessly  on  the  back 
of  the  seat. 

For  a  moment  he  was  confused,  scarcely  able  to  frame 
the  name  that  made  its  way  to  his  lips,  although  he  had 
thought  of  it  much. 

"Miss  Letcher!"  he  said,  at  last. 

She  laughed  merrily. 

"You  are  surprised — and  not  displeased,  I  hope?  I 
feared  you  were  not  going  to  remember  me — a  not  very 
flattering  confession.  When  my  place  was  assigned  to 
me  I  read  the  name  '  Treemon '  on  the  back  of  the  chair 
next  on  my  left.  I  could  not  be  sure  that  it  was  yours, 
so  I  asked  the  deck  steward.  He  looked  it  up  and  made 
report.  So  to  me  you  are  not  unexpected." 

"I  beg  pardon,"  he  replied.  "I  was  distrait — preoc- 
cupied." 

She  looked  well  and  entirely  lady-like ;  he  was  a  trifle 
mystified  to  see  how  well.  She  wore  a  travelling-suit  of 
dark-blue  serge  and  a  felt  hat  of  jaunty  rim,  held  down 
by  a  veil,  that  confined  her  hair,  except  in  two  becom- 
ing and  fluffy  dark  masses  on  either  side.  Her  sallow 
face  was  slightly  flushed,  and  her  eyes  shone  brightly 
from  such  a  background.  He  observed  that  her  fig- 
ure, against  the  white  setting  of  the  deck  and  cabin, 
was  as  shapely  and  graceful  as  he  recalled  it.  He 
noticed  this  curiously,  wondering  again  if,  because  of 
Victoria,  he  was  beginning  to  take  an  interest  in  all 
women. 

His  own  rugs  had  been  thrown  upon  his  chair  by  the 
deck  steward,  and  he  seated  himself  beside  her. 

"So  we  are  to  be  companions?"  he  observed. 

"I  am  to  be  endured  for  seven  weary  days  at  least." 
Her  voice  had  an  accented  drawl  to  express  horror  and 

171 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

her  face  a  humorous  expression ;  her  oratorical  experience 
became  her.  "I  trust  you  will  survive  it." 

"I'll  survive  it,"  he  replied,  with  a  smile.  "  If  I  prom- 
ised all  that  is  on  my  mind  you  would  reprove  me — per- 
haps you  would  have  the  steward  move  your  seat.  Are 
you  a  sailor?" 

"I  am  everything,"  she  answered,  "except  a  senator 
with  the  supreme  and  comforting  art  of  flattery.  I 
have  been  compelled  to  conquer  all  vocations,  so  I  shall 
brave  the  table  at  each  meal  and  sleep  as  soundly  as  on 
shore.  Verily,  verily,  I  am  a  living  example  of  what  an 
American  woman  should  be — as  much  a  soldier  of  fort- 
une as  a  man." 

He  was  compelled  to  admit  that,  seen  in  this  view,  she 
was  a  very  attractive  soldier  of  fortune.  He  struggled 
to  recall  what  Jacob  Roth  had  said  about  her.  As  well 
disposed  as  he  was  towards  Jacob,  he  could  scarcely 
connect  her  with  him,  she  was  so  refined  and  pretty  in 
her  attractive  costume,  and  with  her  lively  and  self- 
possessed  manner. 

"Are  you  travelling  alone?"  he  asked,  inferring  from 
what  she  had  said  that  this  was  the  case. 

"Absolutely,  unless  you  admit  me  in  some  sort  to 
the  companionship  of  which  you  spoke,  during  the  voy- 
age. I  do  not  know  another  soul  on  board  the  ship." 

"We  are  in  the  same  boat,"  he  smiled,  "with  a  com- 
mon phrase,  and  no  quip  intended,  and  I'm  going  to  con- 
gratulate myself  thereon.  But,  unlike  you,  I  am  not  a 
good  sailor,  and  I  shall  need  some  one  to  give  me  moral 
support.  As  yet  I  feel  no  qualms,  but  I'm  neither  con- 
fident nor  boastful." 

"I'll  be  mascot  for  you,  and  you  can  be  both  to-mor- 
row. You  haven't  asked  after  your  friends  on  the  East 
Side  yet.  Well,  don't;  don't  ask  after  any  one.  Let's 
defer  all  reference  to  the  land  we  have  left,  and,  since  we 
are  alone,  live  a  little  in  nature  as  we  are  not  in  the  habit 

172 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

of  seeing  it.  There  is  the  water,  the  sky,  the  breeze,  and 
the  shafts  of  sunlight  about  the  ship.  Let's  commune 
in  poetry  for  a  while,  and  to-morrow  I'll  talk  shore  and 
abstractions  to  you.  We  should  be  able  to  settle  the 
problems  of  all  the  world  in  seven  days'  companion- 
ship." 

She  grew  on  him.  What  a  singular  woman  she  was, 
and,  in  her  way,  how  positively  charming! 

"I  have  been  almost  too  practical  a  man  for  poetry," 
he  said.  "But  I  will  go  with  you  cheerfully  to  the  ex- 
tent of  my  knowledge." 

"That  should  be  far,  I  suspect,  in  spite  of  your  dis- 
claimer," she  answered.  "  Poetry  is  latent  in  us  all.  The 
dreamy,  the  speculative,  the  religious  idea  is  its  basis, 
and  men  who  believe  in  ghosts,  necromancy,  and  witch- 
craft would  break  into  song  if  they  had  the  words.  I 
doubt  if  a  man  could  rise  to  the  United  States  Senate 
unless  he  could  spice  his  efforts  with  a  little  sentiment. 
I  should  look  to  find  it  along  your  career  somewhere, 
Senator  Treemon.  I  ought  to  know,  in  a  way.  I  prac- 
tice public  matters  myself,  my  specialty  being  the  so- 
cialistic platform." 

"I  have  wondered  why  you  do  it,"  he  said. 

"Why,  it's  my  livelihood.  One  must  eat,  you  know. 
And  it's  not  easy  for  a  woman  to  find  bread." 

"I  beg  pardon.  But  of  course  you  believe  in  your 
faith." 

"We  must  all  believe  the  truth,"  she  said,  gently. 
"The  law  of  necessity  interferes  with  our  ideals,  but  they 
are  ideals  nevertheless.  I  am  grateful  that  in  minister- 
ing to  the  first  I  may  serve  the  second." 

He  stared  at  her,  liking  her  independent  spirit.  His 
humor  lightened,  for  he  saw  that  the  voyage  was  not 
to  be  a  dreary  one. 

"I  wonder  how  it  would  feel  to  be  rich,"  she  con- 
tinued, dreamily — "to  have  some  capable  man  work  for 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

you,  and  live  in  idleness  on  his  labor?  All  women  do 
it.  The  exceptions  are  so  few  that  I  say  all." 

"Have  you  always  labored?" 

"I  do  not  remember  when  I  did  not,"  she  replied. 
"Mostly  the  women  I  have  known  have  labored,  too. 
I'm  unfit  for  the  society  of  any  other — or,  at  least,  I 
fancy  so.  I've  known  the  housewives  of  the  common 
people — the  working  people;  but  mainly  my  compan- 
ions have  been  those  of  the  stage  and  platform.  To 
me  they  are  so  superior  that  I  have  imagined  all 
other  women  trite;  I  have  affected  to  look  down  on 
them  as  helpless,  inefficient  creatures  who  are  to  be 
pitied." 

"That  should  comfort  and  reassure  you,"  he  laughed. 
"It  never  struck  me  so  before,  and  I  shall  ask  for  time 
yet  to  make  a  judgment;  but  I  have  known  intimately 
only  the  type  that  you  have  pitied." 

"Do  you  admire  them?"  she  asked,  curiously.  "My 
question  is  in  good  faith.  When  actors,  who  have 
known  the  independent  woman,  marry  off  the  stage, 
they  desert,  and  come  back;  without  exception — no 
matter  how  luxurious  the  home.  I  would  like  to  know 
how  the  vigorous,  intellectual  man — say,  like  yourself — 
really  regards  the  matter  in  his  best  moments." 

"That's  flattering  but  futile,"  he  smiled.  "I,  un- 
fortunately, have  never  married;  yet  it  never  occurred 
to  me  to  pity  women  as  inefficient  creatures." 

"Oh,  dear — no!  Nor  to  me.  I  wouldn't  libel  my 
own  sex.  Women  are  efficient  enough  in  ten  thousand 
ways,  as  you  take  them  as  housewives  and  nurses — 
the  Oriental  theory,  and  their  best  aspects  to  most 
men.  But  in  this  capacity  they  have  not  appealed  to 
you  ?" 

"I've  been  as  busy  as  you  tell  me  you  have,"  he 
answered.  "Really,  when  I've  had  time  to  consider 
it,  the  exalted  women  I  find  to  be  the  George  Eliots, 

174 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

George  Sands,  Madame  Rolands,  and  the  De  Stael, 
Duse,  Bernhardt  type.  History  must  of  necessity  deal 
with  the  notables.  It  so  deals  with  men." 

"There!  But  you  are  not  an  historian,  and  you  are 
speaking  of  yourself!"  she  cried,  triumphantly. 

"But  I  am  no  judge,"  he  persisted,  thinking  now  of 
Lucia  Harrington.  "I  have  seen  the  woman  in  private 
life  who  sparkles — well — as  you  do.  I  have  seen  her 
broad,  capable,  and  as  ready  as  a  man,  and  more  so. 
The  stage  and  platform  give  opportunities,  but  any 
occasion  can  do  that.  Certainly  the  kitchen  and  hospital 
do  not,  nor  the  ordinary  round  of  domesticity,  as  you 
say,  although  I  recall  the  life  of  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe. 
I  don't  know  how  much  I  am  an  Oriental,  and  admire 
the  soft,  clinging  sort."  And  here  his  mind  flashed  to 
Victoria  Wemyss.  "Perhaps  it's  that  dreamy,  ghost- 
loving  strain  which  you  think  exists  in  all  men.  But,  as 
a  politician,  I  could  never  see  the  justice  of  discriminat- 
ing against  woman.  If  that's  a  tenet  of  your  creed, 
I'll  go  with  you  so  far.  I've  not  been  outspoken  in  this 
respect;  few  politicians  are.  And  I  have  never  had 
much  opportunity  to  discuss  it." 

"You  are  at  least  an  exceedingly  interesting  man, 
Senator  Treemon,"  she  said,  boldly,  as  she  rose  from  her 
chair.  "I'm  going  to  beg  you  to  take  the  opportunity 
to  discuss  it  with  me.  I'm  not  afraid  that  you'll  suc- 
cumb to  this  delightful  tremor  which  I  feel  all  through 
me.  After  dinner,  if  my  prayers  prevail,  you  will  be 
on  deck  again.  Good-bye." 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him. 

He  rose,  too,  taking  it,  flushed,  and  with  a  sensation 
that  was  wholly  new  to  him.  Such  easy  fellowship  with 
an  intellectual  woman  he  had  never  known.  He  looked 
after  her  as  she  went  down  the  deck,  her  lithe  body 
swaying  with  the  motion  of  the  steamer,  but  her  step 
true  and  firm.  She  was  the  embodiment  of  free  and 

175 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

independent  health.  She  had  a  pretty  foot,  a  pretty 
hand,  and  a  pleasant  movement. 

He,  too,  went  below,  and  as  the  hours  passed  found 
himself  entirely  at  his  ease.  He  could  scoff  at  the  roll- 
ing of  the  ship.  He  saw  Rose  Letcher  at  dinner,  at  a 
table  remote  from  his,  sitting  silent,  and  apparently  un- 
mindful of  the  gayety  and  chatter  of  those  beside  her. 
He  thought  to  have  her  change  her  seat  on  the  morrow, 
and  would  speak  about  it.  The  dining-saloon  was  not 
crowded;  he  would  mention  the  matter  to  the  steward. 

Going  on  deck  after  the  meal,  he  wandered  about 
with  a  cigar,  and,  this  finished,  he  threw  it  overboard  and 
sought  his  seat.  Rose  Letcher  was  in  her  chair.  The 
stars  were  coming  out,  and  the  air  was  enticing  though 
chill.  Her  wraps  were  about  her,  and  she  reclined  com- 
fortably near  him,  tucked  in  like  a  mummy  by  the  deck 
steward.  Marshall  Treemon  thought  that  this  might 
have  been  his  pleasant  duty  had  he  come  earlier.  He 
gathered  his  own  rugs  up  and  pushed  his  steamer  seat 
closer  to  hers.  The  familiarity  of  such  a  contact  was 
as  pleasant  as  it  was  unusual.  Since  he  had  left 
her  he  had  had  time  to  think.  He  knew  nothing  of 
this  attractive  woman,  and  following  their  first  chance 
meeting  had  scarcely  expected  to  see  her  again.  He 
smiled  at  a  train  of  thought  that  rose  in  his  mind. 
Her  own  words  were  in  a  measure  responsible,  but  per- 
haps it  was  chiefly  because  of  his  ignorance  of  mat- 
ters relating  to  all  socialists  and  his  idea  concerning 
them,  gained  principally  from  his  reading  of  the  news- 
papers. There  were  Russian  spies  and  the  like.  So- 
cialists maintained  organizations  in  Switzerland,  Italy, 
and  England.  Was  he,  a  United  States  Senator,  to 
establish  friendly  relations,  on  a  poetic  basis,  with  a 
veritable  soldier  of  fortune — a  secret  emissary  of  the 
socialistic  propaganda,  who  might  have  designs  on  the 
Russian  government  or  the  Czar?  The  idea  amused 

176 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

him,  as  Rose  Letcher  herself  interested  him.  She  had 
not  spoken  of  her  destination  ?  He  asked  her: 

"Do  you  stop  in  England,  or  are  you  going  through 
to  Germany?" 

"I  am  going  to  London,  and  on  a  singular  mission." 

"Mission?     That  sounds  professional." 

"It  isn't.  I  wish  I  knew  why  I  was  going,"  she 
answered.  "  It  is  an  odd  matter  for  me.  I  had  a  letter 
from  a  lawyer  requesting  me  to  come,  and  enclosing 
money.  It  was  a  sum  sufficient  to  induce  me  to  make 
the  journey." 

She  had  had  time  to  think,  too,  if  it  had  been  neces- 
sary; but  she  had  thought  before.  She  had  refrained 
from  speaking  to  him  of  what  she  knew  with  reference 
to  Maggie  Rooney  and  the  part  he  had  played  in  her 
fortunes.  He  could  not  know  that  she  knew  it,  and, 
with  a  woman's  tact,  she  concluded  not  to  mention  it. 

He  made  no  observation  in  reference  to  her  last  words, 
but  he  had  listened,  and  sat  waiting  for  her  to  speak 
further. 

"You  are  a  lawyer,"  she  continued,  "and,  conse- 
quently, you  may  be  able  to  aid  me  by  suggestion  in  the 
matter.  The  letter  came  from  a  representative  firm  in 
London.  I  assured  myself  of  this  when  I  cashed  the 
enclosure,  which  was  sufficient  to  indicate  good  faith. 
But  the  contents  startled  me,  and  I  haven't  recovered 
yet.  The  writer  stated  that  it  would  be  greatly  to  my 
advantage  to  come  to  London  at  once;  that  his  firm 
had  been  employed  to  find  me  and  bring  the  matter  of 
which  he  wrote  to  my  attention ;  that  the  search  for  my 
address  had  been  long,  my  identification  not  difficult, 
but  first  trace  of  me  a  matter  which  for  several  years 
had  baffled  them — this  last  I  could  readily  understand. 
Then  came  the  matter  of  surprise  and  interest.  It  ap- 
pears that  I  have  relatives,  rich,  childless,  and  anxious 
to  know  of  me.  The  search  for  me  was  instituted  by  an 

177 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

aunt,  my  mother's  only  sister.  We  were  plain  people 
in  England,  where  I  was  born.  My  grandparents  lived 
in  Brussels,  where  my  mother  married  a  professor,  who 
was  my  father.  We  came  to  England,  and  lived  ob- 
scurely and  in  poverty.  My  grandparents  died,  and  a 
younger  sister  of  my  mother  went  to  America  to  join 
an  only  brother,  who  had  gone  out  to  the  States  some 
years  before.  Word  came  that  she  reached  her  destina- 
tion in  safety,  and,  later,  that  her  brother  had  died. 
Then  we  lost  all  trace  of  her,  and  our  own  wandering 
fortunes  did  not  conduce  to  much  interest  in  the  matter- 
Poverty  is  a  grim  strangler  of  such  emotions.  But  my 
mother  loved  her  sister  and  never  forgot  her.  This  had 
often  touched  me,  as  I  recall  it,  for  the  intercourse  be- 
tween them  in  their  youthful  and  happy  days  must 
have  been  most  tender.  My  own  parents  died,  my  own 
fortunes  took  me  to  America,  and  there  I  lived  and 
labored.  But  it  seems  that  my  aunt  remembered  my 
mother,  too,  and,  having  prospered,  she  longed  for  some 
word  of  the  family  that  had  disappeared.  The  writer 
of  the  letter  stated  that  my  mother's  death  was  known, 
and  that  it  was  also  known  that  I  was  the  sole  survivor 
of  our  household.  He  knew  his  purpose,  too,  and  was 
properly  emphatic.  He  stated  that  my  aunt's  interest 
in  the  search  had  grown  to  a  passion,  and  that  she  had 
inspired  her  husband  with  a  kindred  feeling.  He  begged 
me  not  to  disregard  his  summons  to  come,  stating  that, 
should  I  do  so,  my  aunt  and  her  husband  would  find  me 
personally  when  the  business  that  detained  them  in 
Europe  permitted  them  to  return  home,  but  that  her 
anxiety  would  not  consent  to  even  this  delay,  which 
anxiety  I  should  appreciate.  I  could  not  resist,  Senator 
Treemon,  an  appeal  like  that,  for  my  own  life  has  been 
lonely,  and  I  would  welcome  some  tie  that  I  could  value. 
Besides,  my  mother's  devotion  has  inspired  me  always 
with  a  sincere  love  for  this  sister  whom,  even  under  the 

178 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

depressing  influence  of  our  poverty  and  trial,  she  was 
unable  to  forget.  It  seems  that  this  aunt  married  a 
Mr.  Colby  Littlefield,  of  St.  Louis.  I  have  seen  his  name 
mentioned  frequently  in  the  papers.  He  is  a  person  of 
great  prominence  and  wealth,  as  perhaps  you  know. 
Such  is  one  of  the  incidents  that  a  strange  fate  carves 
out  of  the  foolish  raw  material  in  poor  and  helpless  peo- 
ple with  which  it  deals." 

Marshall  Treemon  heard  this  story  with  deep  interest. 
The  trained  voice,  with  its  nice  accent,  the  words  in- 
toned with  proper  feeling,  and  the  touch  of  emphasis  at 
the  periods  channed  him.  But  at  its  close  he  could 
scarcely  keep  his  seat,  so  great  was  his  surprise.  He 
turned  over  on  the  steamer-chair,  throwing  his  rugs  to 
one  side,  and  sitting  on  the  edge  facing  her. 

"Why,  my  dear  Miss  Letcher,"  he  exclaimed,  "you 
could  not  possibly  have  had  a  better  auditor  than  my- 
self! I  know  Mr.  Littlefield,  and  his  wife  also." 

She  was  looking  at  him  under  the  light  of  the  electric 
bulb,  set  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat  deck  above  them. 

"You  do?" 

"Assuredly!  I  have  known  them  for  years.  I  have 
business  relations  with  Mr.  Littlefield  in  New  York,  and 
have  visited  his  home  often  in  St.  Louis.  It  is  a  show- 
place  of  the  city.  Colby  Littlefield  is  one  of  the  dis- 
tinctively rich  men  of  America." 

He  could  see  that  she  was  listening  breathlessly,  her 
eyes  gleaming  in  the  ray  that  slanted  downward  and 
illumined  her  face. 

"And  his  wife — my  aunt?" 

"A  delightful,  motherly  lady,  of  charitable  tendencies, 
and  just  the  disposition,  I  should  say,  to  seek  unremit- 
tingly any  one  to  whom  she  was  attached.  I  congratu- 
late you  on  such  a  relationship  with  all  my  heart." 

She  leaned  back,  resuming  her  position  slowly. 

"Well,"  she  said,  her  voice  showing  the  effect  of  the 

179 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

communication  she  had  heard,  "my  meeting  with  you 
is  taking  on  the  complexion  of  a  dispensation." 

"Of  Providence?" 

She  caught  the  suggestion  of  his  tone. 

"Yes;   I  meant  that.     Is  my  aunt  religious?" 

"Very." 

"And  you  think  I  am  not?" 

"I  have  not  heard  that  socialistic  thought  is  con- 
ducive to  orthodoxy.  You  see,  the  deity  is  a  monarch." 

"He  was  when  monarchies  were  the  rule,"  she  an- 
swered. "I'll  not  debate  those  questions  with  my  aunt. 
The  religious  side  of  socialism  teaches  that  we  are  a  part 
of  the  eternal,  and  it  is  because  of  the  fellowship  with 
deity  that  we  hope  to  establish  the  fellowship  of  man." 

He  laughed. 

"I  wonder  where  your  theories  will  go  now?" 

"Oh,"  she  replied,  quickly,  "I  expect  nothing — beyond 
the  pleasure  of  finding  a  relationship  which  my  heart 
has  craved  for  years.  I  shall  permit  no  other  consider- 
ation." 

"You  evidently  do  not  know  Colby  Little  field  and 
his  wife.  Believe  me,  Miss  Letcher,  when  you  come  in 
contact  with  that  influence,  if  your  heart  is  where  I  sus- 
pect it  to  be,  you  will  melt." 

His  words  struck  a  strange  chord  within  her.  Perhaps 
her  heart  was  not  where  he  suspected.  She  looked  at 
him  through  the  soft  night,  moved  now  by  the  tones 
that  she  realized  had  influenced  her  in  the  beginning. 
The  revelation  made  promised  something.  Never  be- 
fore, in  any  dream,  had  she  such  a  thought  come  to  her. 
But  she  was  a  woman,  fearless,  vigorous,  and  free.  She 
had  dared,  but  she  had  never  hoped.  She  had  imagined 
power,  but  never  wealth.  And  now  a  thought  of  power 
and  wealth  suggested  a  far-away  possibility  that  carried 
her  woman's  soul  to  the  stars.  The  man  beside  her  was 
a  realization  of  all  the  romance  she  possessed,  and  his 

1 80 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

glance  had  kindled  a  warmth  in  her  heart  that  had  been 
cold  for  years.  She  felt  that  she  could  be  either  fiend 
or  angel,  and  there  stirred  within  her  the  music  of  a 
harp.  Isolated  and  self-centred,  she  had  heretofore  la- 
bored for  an  idea.  She  marvelled  at  a  change  that  now 
prompted  some  labor  for  herself.  If  she  dared — if  cir- 
cumstances might — 

She  lapsed  into  silence  and  looked  out  into  the  dark- 
ness, where  the  wind  played  over  the  surface  of  the 
waters. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

ON  THE   DEVTSCHLAND 

Two  days  later  Marshall  Treemon  stood  with  Rose 
Letcher  within  the  shelter  of  the  cafe"  upon  the  upper 
deck.  The  day  was  glorious.  The  breeze,  faint  but  in- 
toxicating, filled  them  with  the  ardor  of  life.  It  blew 
her  hair  in  tangles,  and  brought  again  to  his  notice  her 
shapely  hands,  that  struggled  at  times  with  the  veil  that 
repressed  them.  It  played  about  her  form,  sharpening 
its  outline  into  curves  of  ease  and  grace.  Her  eyes 
sparkled  under  the  influence  of  the  sunshine  and  her 
teeth  shone  in  the  light.  She  was  joyous  and  her  laugh 
rang.  Upon  his  part  he  was  grave,  but  he  shared  with 
her  the  exultation  of  the  morning.  They  had  made  no 
acquaintances  among  their  fellow-passengers,  but  they 
felt  that  they  were  observed.  Admiring  glances  had  fol- 
lowed them  as  they  moved  about  the  deck,  and  whispers 
were  speculative  and  curious. 

Their  friendship  had  grown  rapidly,  and  a  free  ex- 
change of  views  had  welded  it.  Unconsciously,  they 
represented  the  extremes  of  life  as  they  typified  the 
extremes  of  thought.  He  was  practical  while  she  was 
an  idealist.  Both  expressed  a  candor  of  to-day  and 
both  repressed  a  silence  of  the  past.  Both  lived  now 
in  the  present  but  were  mute  as  to  history.  They 
laughed  with  the  day  and  with  each  other.  Marshall 
Treemon  felt  that  in  view  of  her  journey  he  had  brought 
her  a  certain  credit,  and  stood  sponsor  over  a  kind  of 
embarrassment  which  her  mission  entailed.  She  felt 

182 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

this  also  and  leaned  upon  him.  A  certain  confusion  in 
the  minds  of  each  cemented  their  companionship.  The 
future  was  vague  and  indefinite  for  each,  and  their  des- 
tination was  before  them.  She  had  learned  all  that  he 
could  tell  of  her  aunt,  which  was  much,  but  of  herself 
she  said  little.  She  had  urged  him  to  speak  of  himself 
and  his  career,  hanging  upon  his  words  with  a  sympathy 
that  inspired  him.  With  a  gentle  insistence  that  was 
flattering  and  soothing,  she  had  led  him  on,  until  she  had 
come  to  know  him  with  a  sureness  that  he  could  not 
guess.  Of  Victoria  Wemyss  he  did  not  speak. 

As  their  intimacy  grew,  she  developed  a  modesty  and 
timidity  that  impressed  him.  He  could  see  that  some 
change  had  taken  place  within  her.  He  was  not  ana- 
lytical here ;  he  attributed  it  to  the  varying  moods  said 
to  belong  to  the  feminine  character. 

Already  he  had  offered  to  assist  her  when  they  should 
arrive  in  London.  His  time  was  his  own,  and  he  would 
see  her  to  the  office  of  her  lawyers.  If  necessary,  he 
would  be  her  escort  until  she  was  safely  delivered  over 
to  her  expectant  relatives. 

And  now  she  ventured  to  speak  of  a  subject  that  had 
lain  upon  her  mind. 

"I  am  not  afraid  to  meet  a  gentlewoman  who  is  my 
aunt,  however  strange  she  may  be;  and  even  her  hus- 
band, austere  and  dominant,  as  self-made  millionaires 
must  be,  has  no  terror  for  me.  I'm  not  afraid  of  the 
human  animal.  But  they  may  embarrass  me  some- 
what." 

"You  mean  that  they  may  embarrass  your  plans?" 

"Yes — that  is  what  I  mean." 

"They  will  do  that,"  he  said,  with  a  smile.  "All 
your  fine  theories,  which  have  to  do  with  the  changing 
of  the  great  big  order  of  life,  must  be  modified  by  the 
change  they  will  insist  on  making  for  you.  You  will  be 
in  a  position  to  look  at  things  from  the  other  side." 

183 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"That's  it,"  she  said.  "I  wish  to  see  if  it  will  greatly 
influence  me." 

"I  predict  that  it  will,"  he  said,  confidently. 

"I  was  thinking  of  Maggie  Rooney,"  she  observed. 
"A  great  change  has  come  to  her,  and  to  Blade,  her 
brother,  and  to  Mr.  Beechy." 

He  was  silent,  looking  at  her  gravely,  and  with  steady 
eyes. 

"Blade  is  probably  the  only  one  who  will  be  truly 
benefited,"  she  went  on.  "He  will  be  given  a  larger 
opportunity,  but  I  doubt  if  Maggie  will  be  happier." 

"You  think  not?" 

He  did  not  ask  her  what  she  knew.  He  took  for 
granted  from  her  words  that  Maggie  had  told  her  of 
him. 

"What  can  money  do  for  her,  except  to  take  her  out 
of  the  station  with  which  she  is  familiar,  lose  her  the 
ease  and  comfort  of  her  present  associations,  lift  her 
above  Dan  Magee,  whom  she  loves,  his  mother,  and  the 
Durgans?  For  the  old  man,  it  means  more  drink  and 
a  speedier  death.  He  is  beyond  hope,  anyway.' 

Marshall  Treemon  sighed. 

"An  easier  death,  at  least,  and  an  easier  road  thereto. 
Heavens  knows,  nobody  owes  him  anything!  As  for 
Maggie,  how  can  more  leisure  and  freedom  from  hard 
work  hurt  her?" 

"Work  is  our  life,"  she  answered.  "Occupation  is 
everything.  It  made  Maggie,  kept  her  a  good  girl,  and 
was  her  happiness  as  well  as  her  salvation." 

"I  am  a  slave  to  labor  myself,"  he  answered.  "I 
grant  its  necessity  to  happiness.  But  it  is  your  theory, 
is  it  not,  that  progress  consists  in  the  elevation  of  the 
occupation?  If  Maggie  is  worthy,  she  will  make  her 
place.  She  has  made  the  one  she  has  had.  If  the  poor 
are  not  equal  to  progress,  what  is  the  hope  for  them? 
What  about  Maggie?" 

184 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"She's  a  changed  girl.  The  change  intoxicates  her. 
She  has  taken  a  house  next  to  the  Wellobys.  They  are 
instructing  her  now.  I  advised  her,  too,  but  she  doesn't 
see  the  need  of  knowledge  to  harmonize  her  with  her 
good-fortune.  I  tried  to  tell  her,  but  she  doesn't  under- 
stand. She's  a  true  child,  after  all,  and  thinks  only  of 
the  pleasure  she  is  to  have." 

"Which  means?" 

"That  she  had  gone  to  dress,  ornaments,  and  late 
hours.  She  is  calling  in  friends  who  are  not  wise,  and 
they  cluster  about  her  for  what  they  expect  from  her. 
That's  always  the  way  with  the  poor.  Poverty  makes 
us  servile,  selfish,  and  insincere,  and  it  is  difficult  to  rise 
to  anything  better.  I  know  what  you  are  thinking." 
And  she  smiled  at  him.  "We  teach  that  it  is  the  rich 
who  are  selfish  and  insincere.  Well,  the  two  extremes 
produce  the  same  results,  but  poverty  debases  most 
I  am  afraid  Maggie  is  going  to  be  spoiled." 

"That  is  alarming,"  he  said.  "We  must  look  after 
her  on  our  return.  I  believe  you  are  wholly  good,"  he 
continued,  and  his  eyes  rested  on  her  gently.  ' '  I  thought 
Maggie  as  womanly  a  person  as  I  had  ever  seen.  I  do 
not  believe  she  is  going  to  be  spoiled.  You  spoke  of  her 
good-fortune ;  is  it  not,  in  fact,  good-fortune  ?  Is  it  true 
that  the  worthy  poor  are  not  to  be  benefited  by  it?" 

"Not  suddenly,"  she  answered.  "No  sudden  change 
is  good  for  us.  It's  against  discipline.  I  was  thinking 
of  myself.  I  have  been  thinking  much  about  it  lately. 
How  few  of  our  fine  theories  stand  a  practical  test!" 

"The  world  is  better  as  it  is  made,"  he  said.  "We 
should  leave  things  to  the  law  of  human  progress." 

"All  things?" 

"We  can't  do  otherwise,"  he  replied,  with  a  laugh. 
"I  believe  that.  Kings  are  better  dethroned  by  time 
than  by  revolution.  I  have  been  thinking,  too.  I  have 
my  problems,  as  you  have,  and  they  are  just  as  complex." 

13  l8$ 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

She  did  not  doubt  it,  but  she  wondered  what  they  were. 
She  wondered  if  there  was  a  woman  in  them.  She  discov- 
ered no  sign,  and  yet,  at  his  age,  it  should  be  probable. 

He  was  thinking  now  of  Victoria  Wemyss. 

"We  all  have  our  problems,"  she  said,  after  a  mo- 
ment. "When  we  return  we  will  both  look  after  poor 
Maggie — if  we  do  return." 

She  looked  at  him  wistfully. 

"I  am  not  going  to  stay  in  England,"  he  said,  humor- 
ously, shaking  his  sudden  mood  from  him.  "The  Little- 
fields  do  not  live  there,  either.  And,  remember,  they 
live  in  the  West,  where  I  do." 

"The  suggestion  is  pleasant  if  I  understand  it."  And 
she  smiled.  "  It  is  this :  if  we  go  back,  as  we  came,  with 
our  same  persons  and  selves." 

"That's  a  speech  that  I  shall  not  profess  to  under- 
stand. It's  a  woman's,  and  occult.  But  I  hope  you 
won't  change — at  least, 'not  greatly."  And  he  glanced 
at  her  admiringly.  "You  can't  change  much  for  the 
better.  There,  you  see,  I'm  emulating  your  frank 
friendliness  for  me.  If  Mr.  Littlefield  will  have  the 
good  judgment  to  follow  what  I  believe  will  be  the  in- 
clination of  his  wife  your  prospects  will  change  greatly." 

"Does  she  influence  him?" 

"He  says  she  helped  to  make  him.  He  lets  her  give 
to  any  charity  and  he  gives  largely  himself.  That's 
the  way  with  most  men  of  large  fortune.  They  have 
no  other  outlet  for  the  product  of  their  energies.  They 
have  nothing  to  strive  for  but  money,  and  money  ac- 
cumulated means  nothing  when  acquired." 

"No  matter  what  happens  to  me,  I  shall  always  speak 
for  the  people,"  she  said. 

"You  had  better  speak  for  yourself,"  he  observed, 
looking  at  her  again.  "You  had  better  follow  the  dictates 
of  your  woman's  nature,  and  look  after  happiness,  leav- 
ing to  us,  the  men,  the  problems  of  strife." 

186 


PURPLE   AND    HOMESPUN 

"If  you  will  only  do  it,  I  am  willing,"  she  said.  "I 
shall  cheerfully  abdicate — if  you  will  help  me  make  it 
worth  while."  Her  speech  and  manner  were  half 
mocking.  "The  priest  should  not  abandon  his  con- 
verts, and  I  am  sure  you  would  not  leave  me  half  in- 
structed." 

Her  manner  had  changed  again,  and  her  smile  lighted 
her  eyes  and  lips  once  more. 

"You  see,  Senator  Treemon,  it  may  be  embarrassing 
to  be  a  kindly  light.  I  might  insist  on  your  friendship; 
and  look — look — look  how  widely  we  are  apart." 

He  wondered  what  she  meant.  There  was  something 
in  her  sparkling  eyes,  a  movement  about  her  lips,  and  a 
challenge  in  her  whole  demeanor  as  she  drew  away  from 
him,  her  hands  behind  her,  facing  him,  with  her  head 
high,  and  thrown  back  jauntily. 

"I  have  not  presumed  to  give  you  my  friendship,  poor 
as  it  is,"  he  said,  meeting  her  mood  with  a  certain  light- 
ness of  tone.  "You  have  taken  it  by  storm.  I  am 
going  to  be  as  selfish,  in  that  respect,  as  any  woman 
could  possibly  wish.  We  are  not  so  far  apart.  Run 
down  to  their  deductions,  our  ideas  would  be  found  to 
meet." 

"I  meant  that  we  were  far  apart,  socially." 

He  looked  at  her  curiously,  his  voice  cold,  as  he  re- 
plied to  her. 

"Well,  now,  do  you  know,  that  that  never  occurred 
to  me?  I  have  no  prejudice  in  such  premises.  But 
do  you  think  I  am  a  man  to  let  a  convention  stand  be- 
tween me  and  any  good — any  legitimate,  honest,  or  law- 
ful thing  that  I  want?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  replied.  "Lots  of  men  do — 
most  men  do." 

"Well,  here's  one  man  that  wouldn't.  The  very  first 
principle  of  liberty,  not  to  say  self-respect,  involves 
that." 

187 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"But  you've  qualified  it,"  she  persisted,  "with  a  lot 
of  words.  You  said  'good'  and  'legitimate'  and  'hon- 
est,' and  all  that;  and  convention  defines  them." 

"Not  for  me,"  and  he  shook  his  head.  "I  define 
them  for  myself." 

"Then  you  are  right,"  she  replied,  with  a  merry  laugh. 
"Our  deductions  meet,  after  all.  Scratched,  I  find  you 
to  be  an  outlaw,  and  hence  a  socialist,  like  myself." 

He  drew  her  arm  within  his,  and  they  walked  to  the 
stairs,  where  he  helped  her  to  the  lower  deck.  He 
scarcely  realized  the  import  of  what  he  had  said  to 
her.  He  was  not  bound  to  any  woman,  and  while  he 
had  thought  constantly  of  Victoria  Wemyss,  while  she 
was  still  adored,  she  was  the  unattainable.  His  mind, 
wearied  at  times,  would  sink  to  a  thought  of  some  prac- 
tical solution  for  continuing  the  peace  of  his  life,  and 
Rose  Letcher  had  appeared  at  an  auspicious  time.  He 
did  not  misjudge  her  or  mistake  her.  Hers  was  not 
a  heart  to  be  trifled  with.  She  had  matured  beyond 
folly.  She  might  have  longings  and  emotions,  as  had 
he,  but  a  failure  to  realize  them  would  not  crush.  They 
had  both  by  experience,  not  years,  reached  the  saving 
period  of  life.  But  neither  knew  of  the  other  that  the 
reason  was  the  same  with  each:  that  they  had  started 
from  an  assumption  that  was  similar,  in  that  their  fates 
were  hopeless,  and  hence  they  were  resigned;  that  each 
had  brooded  over  a  blemish  in  life  to  which  necessity 
had  made  them  reconciled,  because  they  had  no  refuge 
but  resignation. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

ST.     WEMYSS     TOWERS 

THE  home  of  Victoria  Wemyss  was  a  stately  place. 
Mr.  Littlefield  had  looked  over  the  grounds,  and  Mrs. 
Littlefield  had  been  shown  through  its  various  apart- 
ments by  Lady  Darrow  and  Victoria.  And  neither  of 
these  good  people  had  made  any  save  admiring  com- 
ments. They  had  travelled  too  much  for  such  an  im- 
propriety, and  learned  something  of  the  European  tem- 
perament. Other  Americans,  less  tactful  and  more 
provincial,  had  been  coming  annually  across  the  water 
and  making  comparisons,  and  they  had  been  disliked 
in  consequence,  and  gotten  their  country  talked  about. 
To  the  European  mind  it  was  not  apparent  that  they 
thus  paid  a  tribute  of  naive  respect.  Europe,  solemn, 
monumental,  and  historical,  assuming  much  to  itself 
because  things  to  be  valued  began  there,  was  resentful 
of  criticism  by  untutored  persons.  It  was  resentful  of 
an  alleged  freedom  which  the  Americans  asserted,  and 
which  they  pityingly  deplored  that  the  European  had 
not.  They  were  willing  to  worship  at  the  European 
shrine  if  Europe  would  permit  them  some  remnant  of 
respect  for  the  country  which  was  their  own.  But 
Europe,  knowing  it  all,  possessing  it  all,  and  proud  of 
conventions  which  the  American  regarded  with  both 
ignorance  and  wonder,  laid  a  peremptory  and  admonitory 
finger  upon  any  exuberance  that  threatened  either  rule 
or  canon.  It  was  proud  of  its  monarchs,  and  stared  in 

189 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

rebuke  at  the  American  who  questioned  the  decadence 
of  a  good  thing — who  asked  why  only  one  absolute  czar 
was  left.  It  was  proud  of  its  hereditary  legislative 
bodies,  and  did  not  care  to  be  reminded  that  the  House 
of  Lords  was  the  sole  and  tottering  relic  of  such  a  sys- 
tem. It  was  proud  of  badge  and  title,  which  France  had 
abolished,  which  in  Italy  excited  derision,  and  yet  in 
England  stood  for  something  that  the  American  could 
not  understand.  The  American  scanned  the  peerage, 
and  was  perplexed.  He  thought  it  a  joke,  and  mar- 
velled that  the  English  refused  to  laugh  with  him.  He 
found  that  James  I.,  in  an  afternoon  of  financial  stress, 
had  created  at  one  fell  swoop  two  hundred  baronetcies 
which  were  sold  for  a  thousand  pounds  each.  He  thought 
this  humorous,  but  the  titles  were  still  existent  and  borne 
with  pride.  A  host  of  peers  were  descended  from  Charles 
II.,  who  was  the  father  of  no  legitimate  children.  An- 
other swarm  had  descended  from  William  IV.,  all  of 
them  left-handed  and  irregular.  The  Americans  were  in- 
quisitive, and  they  offended.  Being  strangers  and  out 
for  recreation,  they  were  willing  to  overlook,  with  their 
designated  English  cousins,  a  question  of  dignity  and 
morals  in  this  respect,  both  of  which  they  esteemed  at 
home ;  but  the  Englishman  was  unappreciative  and  cold. 
And  so,  not  understanding,  the  visitors  continued  un- 
popular, and  passed  on. 

St.  Wemyss  was  a  large  pile,  red,  miscellaneous,  and 
of  ancient  brick  and  stone.  The  wainscoting  within, 
venerable  and  strong,  black  with  age,  was  impressive, 
and  staircase  and  ceiling,  wide  and  high,  expressed  gloom 
and  grandeur.  A  multitude  of  servants  covered  its  in- 
conveniences, and  modified  the  primitive  condition  of 
kitchen  and  dining-hall.  The  ivy  clung  and  rattled, 
and  was  picturesque,  but  to  the  American  eye  it  did  not 
count  as  against  clean  carved  granite  and  white  marble 
cornice.  The  fountains  were  old  and  rusty,  and  the 

190 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

great  stone  steps  sunken  at  places  in  the  soil.  Money 
might  have  tempered  this,  but  its  charm  lay  in  an  age 
that,  to  the  new  mind,  defaced.  The  grounds  were 
ample,  and  the  woods  at  back  possessed  a  sylvan  delight 
in  trail  and  by-path.  Rustic  seats  were  scattered 
throughout  the  lawn,  and  in  shady  patches  of  elm  and 
cypress.  The  place  was  quiet,  and  gave  no  evidence  of 
a  certain  squalor  that  lay  beyond  its  confines.  The  cool 
stretches  of  meadow  that  went  green  and  yellow  from 
the  ancient  roads  of  firm  white  surface  were  pleasant 
to  the  eye,  and  one  overlooked  the  haggard  and  laden 
toilers  that  stepped  humbly  aside  for  the  passage  of 
carriage  or  automobile. 

Mrs.  Littlefield  thought  the  leaded  and  arched  win- 
dows, with  their  small  panes  and  the  webs  at  the  pointed 
apex,  pretty,  at  which  plebeian  term  Lady  Darrow's 
brows  contracted.  The  good  woman  meant  well,  but 
she  was  thinking  of  her  plate-glass  windows  at  home, 
with  their  gilded  trimmings,  and  their  sweep  of  costly 
lace  and  velvet.  Mr.  Littlefield  did  not  suggest  that 
his  stable,  with  its  modern  baths,  its  running  water,  its 
electric  bells  and  lights,  was  a  grander  edifice  than  this 
ancient  British  dwelling. 

The  Littlefields  got  on  well;  and  the  charities,  ma- 
tured in  consultation  with  Lady  Darrow,  had  assumed 
proportions  that  promised  opulence  for  their  fortunate 
objects.  The  gatherings  in  the  afternoons  and  even- 
ings were  cheerful.  The  neighboring  gentry  were  oc- 
casional, while  Sir  William  and  Lord  Paget  were  fixtures. 
The  duties  of  Captain  Travers  kept  him  in  London  at 
this  season,  but  he  came  down  at  every  convenient  in- 
terval. Victoria  had  had  time  to  think,  but  he  had 
made  no  progress.  Following  the  gracious  evening  in 
Park  Lane,  she  had  become  strangely  reticent,  and  Cap- 
tain Travers,  baffled,  had  entered  upon  a  policy  of  sullen 
silence.  He  won  upon  Mrs.  Littlefield,  who  thought  him 

191 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

odd,  and  greatly  appreciated  his  sudden  attentions. 
He  was  mitigating  his  alarm  at  her  designs,  which 
threatened  his  peace.  But  her  interests  were  not  genea- 
logical in  the  sense  that  Sir  William  had  supposed,  as 
they  were  soon  made  aware. 

For  then  events  happened  which  lifted  the  immediate 
peril,  and  took  the  Littlefields  away.  Mrs.  Littlefield 
confided  the  circumstances  fully  to  her  friends.  Mr. 
Littlefield  and  she  were  childless,  and  their  great  wealth 
had  filled  them  with  a  common  desire.  They  had  no 
relatives  to  whom  they  were  attached,  but  now  they 
were  delighted  at  the  fruition  of  long  -  deferred  hope. 
Mrs.  Littlefield  had  been  seeking  the  child  of  an  only 
sister — a  sister  from  whom  she  had  been  parted  in  her 
youth,  and  whom  she  had  loved  most  fondly.  Her 
lawyers  in  London,  for  years  in  her  pay,  had  found  the 
child,  a  daughter,  in  America.  Mr.  Littlefield's  plans 
had  precluded  their  early  return  home,  so  the  niece  had 
been  summoned  to  England.  No  conclusions  regarding 
the  matter  could  be  arrived  at  until  the  young  woman 
was  seen  and  known,  but  they  were  overjoyed  at  the 
prospect  of  the  meeting. 

Lady  Darrow  and  Victoria  were  both  sympathetic. 
It  was  a  subject  well  calculated  to  inspire  such  an  in- 
terest in  women.  They  were  sorry  to  lose  their  guests, 
but  would  see  them  in  London;  there  the  Littlefields 
maintained  upon  their  own  account  apartments  perma- 
nent and  sumptuous,  as  became  them. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Littlefield  had  thereupon  taken  their 
departure  for  the  City,  and  on  their  arrival  another  cir- 
cumstance had  interfered  in  a  measure  with  their  plans. 
An  imperative  cablegram  summoned  the  magnate  to 
America.  He  could  not  await  the  arrival  of  his  wife's 
niece,  but  he  would  return  as  speedily  as  his  business 
should  permit.  He  sailed  away,  to  cross  their  expected 
relative  upon  the  high  seas. 

192 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

All  this  was  comforting  to  Captain  Travers,  who  heard 
of  it  with  reasonable  equanimity.  Mrs.  Littlefield  might 
have  her  niece  and  welcome,  since  fate  so  willed  it;  but 
that  dreaded  personage  would  not  be  brought  into  the 
chaste  surroundings,  the  holy  influences,  of  an  immacu- 
late and  irreproachable  English  home. 

This  consideration  appealed  also  to  Sir  William. 

"Our  anxiety  in  this  respect,"  he  said,  "was  the 
result  of  mixing  up  with  outre  people."  The  Ameri- 
can was  entirely  a  proper  person  in  his  place.  But  he 
was  a  stranger  to  delicate  distinctions.  Sir  William 
had  studied  the  question;  the  Americans  had  money, 
courage,  and  ability;  they  had  even  knowledge.  He 
wanted  to  be  fair;  he  sought  for  qualities  possessed  by 
the  Englishman  in  which  the  American  was  wanting,  and 
he  found,  finally,  that  the  latter  lacked  fibre  and  texture. 
He  had  first  tried  to  distinguish  them,  by  likening  the  dif- 
ference to  that  between  a  racer  and  a  dray-horse;  but 
this  would  not  do.  The  quality  of  the  racer  lay  wholly 
in  speed,  if  speed  constituted  a  superiority  over  utility, 
and,  whatever  else,  the  American  did  not  lack  celerity. 
On  the  contrary,  a  thought  of  the  logginess  of  his  country- 
men hurried  him  out  of  his  comparison.  He  found  the 
American  superior  to  every  other  race,  excepting  always 
the  English,  because  he  spoke  a  dialect  approaching  the 
Anglo-Saxon  tongue — but  he  lacked  fibre  and  texture. 

He  took,  on  his  part,  no  exception  to  Mrs.  Littlefield's 
quest  for  her  niece  in  the  spirit  in  which  she  urged  it. 
The  demands  of  blood  upon  patrimony  were  so  essen- 
tially English  that  he  regarded  this  as  natural.  But  the 
whole  matter  was  most  annoying,  particularly  to  Cap- 
tain Travers,  and  it  reflected  upon  the  finesse  with  which 
he,  Sir  William,  had  managed  the  affair  in  the  interest 
of  his  friend  at  the  time  of  the  trouble.  He  did  not 
now  well  see  what  more  he  might  have  done.  The  girl 
could  not  be  killed,  and  she  had  persisted  in  living.  He 

193 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

found  himself  getting  around  to  Captain  Travers's  view, 
and  taking  refuge  therein.  The  whole  difficulty  was  the 
fault  of  the  girl  herself,  who  had  lacked  character,  and 
of  an  unworthy  English  mother  who  had  failed  to  im- 
plant it  in  her.  To  this  extent  he  reflected  on  Mrs. 
Littlefield,  as  a  part  of  such  an  ignoble  connection.  He 
felt  that  he  might  urge  this  view  in  defence  of  Captain 
Travers  and  in  explanation  of  his  own  part  in  the  affair 
with  Lady  Darrow  and  Victoria  if  the  ominous  circum- 
stances should  lead  to  a  revelation. 

And  now  a  letter  was  received  by  Lady  Darrow, 
couched  in  terms  almost  incoherent.  Mrs.  Littlefield 
announced  the  arrival  of  her  niece  in  language  of  the 
wildest  gratification.  She  was  a  paragon  of  relatives; 
a  creature  of  grace,  culture,  and  beauty,  in  whom  the 
good  lady  found  a  marked  resemblance  to  the  lost  and 
beloved  sister.  And  there  came  also  in  its  company 
a  message,  not  connected  therewith,  that  stirred  in  Vic- 
toria's breast  a  feeling  deeper  than  sympathy  for  their 
friend. 

Marshall  Treemon  had  arrived  in  London.  He  had 
constituted  his  companionship  with  Rose  Letcher  a 
trust,  and  had  convoyed  her  to  the  offices  of  her  at- 
torneys. With  them  he  had  accompanied  her  to  the 
threshold  of  Mrs.  Littlefield's  apartments  in  Mayfair, 
and  thence  had  installed  himself  at  Claridge's.  Here 
he  learned  of  Victoria's  presence  at  St.  Wemyss,  and  sent 
a  message  to  her. 

He  knew  nothing  of  Mrs.  Littlefield's  visit  to  St. 
Wemyss,  nor  had  Victoria  any  knowledge  of  his  ac- 
quaintance with  their  late  guest. 

Victoria  had  explained  the  message  to  her  aunt. 

Mr.  Treemon  was  a  member  of  the  American  parlia- 
ment— the  Congress — a  senator.  He  was  a  friend  of 
her  father's,  and  she  had  made  his  acquaintance  at 
Washington.  He  was  really  a  distinguished  person, 

194 


PURPLE   AND    HOMESPUN 

representative  in  all  respects,  and  quite  desirable,  as 
Americans  were  desirable.  The  message  stated  that 
his  stay  in  England  would  be  limited  and — they  were 
not  immediately  going  back  to  town.  Senator  Treemon 
was  a  gentleman  of  extended  influence,  and — she  flamed 
into  an  inspiration — a  friend — an  intimate  friend — of  the 
President.  They  could  scarcely  do  less  than  have  him 
down  at  the  Towers. 

Lady  Darrow,  cold  and  indifferent  at  first,  had,  at 
the  miracle  in  the  termination  of  the  sentence,  flamed 
with  her.  A  friend  of  an  English  ambassador  was  suf- 
ficient. It  was  enough  that  he  was  a  friend  of  her 
brother.  His  reception  in  this  sense  smacked  of  di- 
plomacy. And  since  he  was  a  friend  of  the  President, 
he  should  be  received  with  honor,  even  though  an  Ind- 
ian, like  an  Ashantee,  garbed  in  nothing  but  feathers 
and  a  shield.  This  was  extravagant  metaphor  on  the 
part  of  Lady  Darrow,  who  knew  quite  well  many  Ameri- 
cans, in  addition  to  the  Littlefields;  but  she  was  not  in 
the  habit  of  inviting  those  whom  she  did  not  know  to 
her  house,  and  the  Towers,  in  every  sense,  was  her  house 
while  she  presided  there  as  Victoria's  aunt.  Certainly 
he  should  be  invited  to  the  Towers  if  he  would  come, 
and  later,  if  his  stay  justified  it,  they  would  honor  him 
in  Park  Lane. 

Sir  William,  indifferent  at  first,  as  was  Lady  Darrow, 
rose  also  to  her  enthusiasm,  and  Lord  Paget  grew  like- 
wise eager.  He  saw  visions  of  entertainments  abroad, 
and  a  friend  of  the  President  might  count  for  a  great 
deal. 

Victoria  betrayed  no  emotion.  She  betrayed  nothing 
at  all  beyond  a  desire  to  answer  Marshall  Treemon 's 
request  that  he  might  see  her,  without  enlightening  her 
aunt  as  to  any  unusual  interest  she  had  in  the  matter. 
She,  upon  her  part,  much  desired  to  see  him,  and  the 
sooner  the  better.  They  would  meet  and  have  it  over. 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

On  English  ground,  in  an  English  atmosphere,  each 
would  see  the  error  of  any  sentiment  which  they  believed 
they  felt,  and  go  their  respective  ways  under  the  grace 
of  Heaven. 

A  letter  of  invitation  was  despatched,  its  response 
came,  and  this  bright  afternoon  St.  Wemyss,  in  its  rus- 
set dress  of  leaf  and  moss  and  ivy,  opened  its  gates  to 
welcome  him. 

Victoria  did  not  lack  confidence  in  her  expected  vis- 
itor. She  had  seen  enough  of  him  to  estimate  him  fairly, 
but  she  desired  to  spare  him  formality  and  to  introduce 
him  properly  to  her  home.  Her  aunt,  Sir  William,  and 
Lord  Paget  were  all  in  waiting,  but  shortly  before  the 
train  hour  she  ordered  the  trap,  to  drive  over  to  the  little 
station  to  meet  him. 

"It  is  very  sweet  of  you,  my  dear,  to  go  to  such 
trouble,"  said  her  aunt.  "Your  father  shall  hear  of  it. 
I'm  sure  you  were  a  great  help  to  him  in  Washington; 
but  a  diplomatic  disposition  was  the  last  thing  I  should 
have  looked  for  in  you.  You  had  better  take  a  sun- 
shade along.  You  should  not  need  it  at  this  hour,  but 
the  old  gentleman  may  be  sensitive  to  our  climate." 

Victoria  had  a  perilous  moment,  but  crossed  it  in- 
stantly. 

"Old  gentleman!"  she  exclaimed,  half  wondering  if 
the  speech  of  her  shrewd  and  worldly  relative  contained 
the  reproof  of  an  affectionate  malice.  "Why,  my  dear 
aunt,  he  is  intensely,  foolishly,  inexcusably  young. 
He's  not  a  day  over  thirty  four,  or  five,  or  six,  and  he 
exults  in  it.  It  is  a  matter  of  no  consequence — but  he 
is  not  an  old  man." 

She  drove  away  with  her  confidence  in  herself  unim- 
paired, while  Lady  Darrow  was  left  ruminating  upon  the 
folly  of  immature  speech.  She  felt  that  perhaps  she 
had  done  her  niece  an  injustice,  or  the  reverse,  in  at- 
tributing to  her  any  tendency  to  diplomacy  whatever. 

196 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Marshall  Treemon  meanwhile  had  possessed  himself 
of  both  his  patience  and  his  judgment.  His  recent  ex- 
perience with  Rose  Letcher  had,  in  a  measure,  opened  his 
eyes,  and,  while  it  had  not  threatened  his  sentiment  for 
Victoria,  it  had  allayed  its  tumult.  It  had  given  him  a 
grasp  upon  his  own  dignity  and  awakened  a  sustaining 
philosophy.  Life  had  been  uniformly  kind  to  him,  but 
he  was  not  entitled  to  all  its  blessings.  He  felt  that 
he  would  cheerfully  relinquish  everything  that  he  pos- 
sessed if  Victoria  Wemyss  could  have  been  born  in 
Illinois  and  he  had  met  her  there.  But  since  she  was 
the  unattainable,  he  would  keep  his  manhood.  He 
could  not  say  that  there  were  other  women  as  fair,  but 
he  knew  that  Rose  Letcher  was  kind. 

He  left  the  compartment  of  the  car  when  the  train 
stopped  at  the  St.  Wemyss  station,  and,  walking  down 
the  platform,  caught  sight  of  Victoria  in  the  trap.  His 
heart  leaped  within  him  as  his  eyes  encountered  hers. 
She  was  altogether  lovely.  Her  hat,  with  its  drooping 
feather,  a  tendency  of  English  taste,  her  trim  costume, 
and  her  delicate,  yellow  gauntlets,  that  held  both  reins 
with  such  strength  and  grace,  became  her  wonderfully. 
The  trap  was  a  neat  one,  the  harness  bright  with  silver 
trimmings,  and  the  cob  glossy  and  well-kept.  The  white 
road  behind  her  ran  refreshingly  between  hedge-rows, 
and  up  the  green  slope  of  the  hill  there  was  a  back- 
ground of  delicious  foliage.  The  rays  of  the  sun  mel- 
lowed the  afternoon,  and  the  scent  of  the  country  air 
was  sweet  to  his  nostrils.  The  waiting  figure  was  soli- 
tary in  the  only  vehicle  at  the  station,  which  made  the 
picture  more  impressive.  He  hastened  forward,  over- 
joyed at  the  welcome  in  her  glance. 

She  was  scarcely  conscious  of  how  pleased  she  was 
to  see  him.  She  certainly  had  no  intent  to  disclose  it, 
but  he  looked  well.  His  firmly  knit  figure  was  clad  in 
a  square-cut  suit  of  gray  cloth,  and  an  American  hat 

197 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

set  squarely  upon  his  poised  head.  She  thought  him  the 
perfection  of  attractive  manhood,  and,  conscious  now 
of  the  glow  in  her  cheeks,  she  drew  the  trap  to  one  side, 
and  holding  the  reins  in  one  gloved  hand,  extended  to 
him  the  other. 

"Welcome,"  she  said.  "I  offer  you  the  keys  of  the 
county,  and  will  present  them  at  my  gates.  How  pleas- 
ant, how  very  pleasant,  to  meet  you  here,  in  my  own 
home!" 

He  took  her  extended  hand  for  an  instant,  finding  it 
at  first  difficult  to  speak.  The  sound  of  her  voice,  the 
voice  that  had  lived  in  his  memory,  scattered  his  equa- 
nimity to  the  winds.  He  smiled  slightly,  nodded  his 
head,  and  then  lifted  his  hat. 

She  glanced  up  the  platform. 

"We  will  send  for  your  luggage,"  she  said.  "Get  in 
beside  me." 

He  found  voice  now. 

"What  a  delightful  spot!  I  have  seen  English  land- 
scapes, but  never  one  with  you  in  the  foreground.  You 
can't  know  what  that  means.  It's  a  new  sensation." 

He  sprang  into  the  trap,  and  made  as  though  to  take 
the  reins.  At  her  look  of  surprise,  he  stopped  and 
laughed. 

"At  the  very  onset  I  develop  the  antipodes." 

She  shook  the  cob  into  a  trot,  and  they  fell  into  com- 
monplaces. He  had  had  a  fine  voyage;  London  was 
not  pleasant;  his  health  had  been  good;  he  had  no 
news  of  Washington  possibly  later  than  that  which  her 
father  had  written;  he  had  been  out  West,  at  his  home, 
most  of  the  time,  except  for  a  few  days  spent  in  New 
York  just  prior  to  his  sailing.  They  both  laughed  with 
uncertainty,  and  for  the  first  time  their  conversation 
was  constrained.  He  saw  the  pink  on  the  ridge  of  her 
adorable  ear,  and  noted  where  her  brown  hair  shaded 
her  equally  adorable  neck.  She  noticed  the  bronze  of 

198 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

his  face  and  his  clear  eyes.     As  they  drove  through  the 
gates  and  into  the  grounds  they  recovered. 

"You  will  meet  my  aunt,  Lady  Darrow,"  she  said. 
"Her  home  is  in  London,  but  she  is  with  me  much  of 
the  time,  and  has  been — since  I  have  been  alone."  He 
knew  that  she  spoke  of  her  mother's  death,  and  his  face 
was  sympathetic.  "Sir  William  Dawn  is  with  us,  too," 
she  continued;  "an  old  friend  of  papa's.  He  was  for- 
merly in  the  army.  Then  there  is  Lord  Paget."  She 
vouchsafed  nothing  of  Lord  Paget. 

His  acute  ear  hung  on  the  name,  and  he  wondered,  in 
his  ignorance,  if  Lord  Paget  was  a  title  borne  by  Captain 
Travers.  But  he  was  prepared  now.  At  the  door  he 
leaped  from  the  trap  and  assisted  Victoria  to  alight, 
standing  while  the  clustered  servants  took  it  in  charge. 
His  bag  disappeared,  with  his  light  top -coat,  and  he 
went  easily  up  the  stairs,  with  Victoria  by  his  side,  and 
into  the  old-fashioned  drawing-room.  In  her  honor  he 
would  have  gone  to  the  guillotine,  and  he  held  himself 
proudly,  that  he  might  do  her  honor. 

Marshall  Treemon's  voice  was  low  and  practised.  Its 
modulated  tones  accented  clearly  and  with  distinctness 
each  word.  It  lacked  that  nasal  quality  to  which  the 
English  objected,  and  it  almost  caught,  in  imitation,  the 
characteristics  of  those  who  spoke  to  him.  His  con- 
stituents had  noticed  this  in  his  campaigns.  He  met 
Lady  Darrow  smilingly,  with  just  that  touch  of  deference 
that  would  become  the  friend  of  a  president.  With  the 
gentlemen,  he  displayed  an  ease  and  charm  that  con- 
trasted sharply  with  their  stilted  manners  at  a  first  meet- 
ing. In  a  moment  he  had  fallen  into  this  demeanor  also, 
and  then  led  them  out  of  it.  Victoria  looked  at  him  with  a 
new  wonder,  and  then  felt  a  pang  at  her  heart — the  first 
intimation  of  what  she  might  be  called  upon  to  endure. 

Some  Americans,  really,  had  nice  manners.  Lady 
Darrow  admitted  as  much,  to  Victoria,  that  night. 

199 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   BEGINNING    OF    A   FAILURE 

THE  first  night  which  Marshall  Treemon  spent  at  St. 
Wemyss  was  memorable  to  him.  The  strangeness  of  it 
impressed  him.  The  ineffable  pleasure  of  being  under 
the  same  roof  and  within  the  walls  that  sheltered  Vic- 
toria clung  to  him  like  a  spell;  and  he  fostered  it  and 
joyed  in  it,  pushing  the  sleep  from  his  eyelids  and  staring 
from  his  pillows  into  the  soft  gloom  of  his  chamber, 
thinking  of  her  with  a  new  tenderness,  and  of  himself 
with  a  certain  inward  pathos  when,  at  intervals,  he 
would  remember,  with  a  poignant  pang,  the  conclusion 
to  which  he  had  been  driven  regarding  her.  The  fact 
that  he  saw  her  again — the  fact  that  he  was  near  her — 
the  divine  certainty  of  her  delightful  presence  that  al- 
most benumbed  his  consciousness — served  not  one  jot 
to  solve  the  riddle  of  their  future ;  but  it  bathed  him  in 
a  sense  of  delicious  happiness,  and,  yielding  finally  to  it 
and  to  a  certain  blissful  fatigue  which  his  excited  emo- 
tions engendered,  he  sank  into  a  dreamless  slumber, 
fanned  by  the  fragrance  from  the  stirring  foliage  with- 
out, the  larch-trees  and  the  elms,  that  came  through  his 
open  casement. 

In  his  acceptance  of  the  general  invitation  sent  to 
him,  he  had  limited  his  stay  at  St.  Wemyss  to  three 
days.  Almost  immediately  upon  the  following  morn- 
ing he  felt  that  he  had  made  a  mistake  —  three  hours 
and  a  second  coming  would  have  been  better;  St. 
Wemyss  was  not  far  from  London.  For,  following  the 

200 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

simple  breakfast  of  coffee  and  rolls,  which  he  had  alone 
in  the  square  and  low  breakfast- room,  with  the  leaded 
windows  with  the  box-seats  and  flowered  curtains,  that 
looked  out  upon  the  intense  green  herbage,  he  realized 
his  isolation,  and  it  came  to  him  how  distinctly  he  was 
a  figure  in  his  unusual  surroundings. 

He  had  no  reason  to  be  disappointed  in  his  reception 
or  its  warmth.  His  contact  with  Sir  William  and  Lord 
Paget  had  in  nowise  disconcerted  him.  But  in  the  light 
of  the  new  day,  and  under  the  influence  of  his  sec- 
ond thought,  he  understood  that  he  must,  of  necessity, 
focus  upon  himself  the  attention  of  a  middle-aged  lady 
of  curious  and  eager  tendencies  and  two  male  persons 
of  like  characteristics,  the  three  much  experienced,  and 
each  speculative  of  why  he  was  there  at  all.  This  might 
embarrass  Victoria,  and  the  thought  made  him  uneasy. 

Finishing  his  breakfast,  he  went  out  on  the  terrace 
above  the  Italian  garden,  and  stood  for  a  time  enjoying 
the  fair  prospect,  but  all  the  while  struggling  with  the 
vague  thought  that  oppressed  him.  Then  he  entered 
the  house  again,  going  to  the  library,  where  he  found 
Lady  Darrow  alone.  The  others  were  not  yet  down. 

"Good-morning,  Senator  Treemon,"  she  said.  "You 
are  up  early.  I  trust  that  it  does  not  mean  that  you 
had  an  uncomfortable  night?" 

"No,  indeed,"  was  his  assurance;  "on  the  contrary; 
but  I  was  tempted  by  the  beauty  of  the  morning.  It  is 
one  of  the  charms  of  England." 

"I  don't  know,"  she  replied.  "Mornings  are  beau- 
tiful everywhere,  I  think;  although  I  haven't  tested 
America,  in  any  manner,  which  I  mean  to  do  while  my 
brother  is  abroad.  Do  you  see  him  often?" 

The  question  opened  the  way  to  familiar  ground,  and 
he  entered  on  it  with  his  usual  ease  and  fluency.  The 
others  straggled  in,  and  following  the  greetings  came  a 
chance  allusion  to  Mrs.  Littlefield,  which  surprised  him 

U  2OI 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

greatly.  Upon  his  question  came  the  revelation  of  her 
late  presence  at  St.  Wemyss,  her  departure  to  meet  her  ex- 
pected niece,  and  the  fact  of  that  young  person's  arrival. 
With  a  laugh,  he  in  turn  revealed  something.  He  knew 
Mrs.  Littlefield;  and  Miss  Letcher,  the  young  lady,  had 
travelled  with  him  upon  the  same  steamer.  It  brought 
them  all  at  once  to  a  common  topic,  his  auditors  roused 
and  fervid  with  curiosity.  For  Victoria's  sake,  he  was 
glad. 

Their  questions  anticipated  him.  How  strangely 
things  happened  in  life!  It  was  really  almost  romantic! 
Was  she — the  young  person,  Miss  Letcher — pretty?  Had 
she  any  education  or  refinement  ?  Where  had  she  hidden 
herself  during  all  these  years,  and  would  she  be  an  ac- 
quisition or  disappointment  to  dear,  sanguine  Mrs.  Lit- 
tlefield? They  had  heard  from  her,  and  she  was  ex- 
travagant in  her  delight — but  they  must  make  allowance 
for  a  moment  of  realization  following  years  of  hope. 

Marshall  Treemon  smiled  at  so  political  an  oppor- 
tunity, as  he  waxed  eloquent  in  Rose  Letcher's  praise. 
He  wished  other  matters  might  fall  so  easily  to  his  hand. 
He  had  not  before  known  himself  for  so  accurate  an 
observer,  as  now  Mrs.  Littlefield's  niece  stood  portrayed 
in  feature  and  person  as  definitely  as  though  he  had 
committed  her  portrait  to  canvas.  As  he  spoke,  he 
grew  hopeful  of  Victoria,  for  a  smile  touched  the  cor- 
ner of  her  mouth,  and  he  knew  that  his  enthusiasm  was 
at  least  under  suspicion.  But  the  others  were  not  doubt- 
ful. Sir  William's  countenance  expressed  a  gravity  and 
surprise  which  Marshall  Treemon  could  not,  of  course, 
understand,  while  that  of  Lord  Paget  was  sharp  with 
interest.  Lady  Darrow  murmured  a  few  words  of  grat- 
ification in  behalf  of  Mrs.  Littlefield. 

Before  noon  there  were  more  arrivals:  Colonel  Egling- 
ton,  a  rotund  gentleman  of  forty,  a  friend  of  Sir  William; 
Lord  and  Lady  Carberry;  and  a  Miss  Tomlinson,  a  sister 

202 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

of  Lady  Carberry,  tall,  slim,  with  a  tendency  to  be  timid, 
whom  the  mere  presentation  of  Marshall  Treemon  threw 
into  a  state  of  flushed  confusion.  Her  eyes  expressed 
such  wonder,  and  her  look  at  Victoria  was  so  significant 
of  inquiry,  that  he  reverted  again  to  his  thought  of  the 
early  morning.  He  knew  himself  to  be  a  subject  of 
later  explanation,  which  would  not  be  satisfactory,  not 
knowing  how  the  resources  of  Lady  Darrow  could  dwell 
upon  his  distinguished  character  at  home  and  the  in- 
timacy of  his  connection  with  her  brother,  the  ambas- 
sador. 

St.  Wemyss  received  the  guests  into  its  orderly  econo- 
my and  there  was  no  confusion.  As  they  disappeared 
for  a  time  to  their  respective  apartments,  Marshall  Tree- 
mon took  advantage  of  the  moment  with  Victoria,  and 
they  strolled  together  out  in  the  grounds.  Both  were 
again  shy,  although  they  renewed  in  a  measure  the  arms- 
at-length  relationship  of  the  latter  part  of  their  former 
intercourse.  They  were  putting  off  until  both  were 
better  prepared  the  inevitable  time  when  they  would 
discuss  the  purpose  of  his  visit.  Their  stay  in  the  open 
air  was  not  lengthy,  and  they  returned  with  a  heightened 
color,  the  glowing  eyes  of  Marshall  Treemon  telling  all 
too  plainly  the  excitement  under  which  he  labored.  At 
the  door  of  the  upper  terrace  Sir  William  was  smoking 
a  cigar,  and  Marshall  Treemon  paused  at  his  side,  while 
Victoria  entered  the  sitting  -  room.  Here  she  found 
Lady  Darrow  alone,  and  as  she  removed  her  hat  she 
realized  that  her  aunt  was  awaiting  her,  and  came  under 
two  grave  and  inquiring  eyes. 

Her  immediate  impulse  was  to  leave,  deferring  for  a 
time  the  conversation  which  she  dreaded,  but  she  check- 
ed it  and  lightened  her  embarrassment  by  a  nervous 
laugh. 

"My  dear  aunty,"  she  said,  so  unnaturally  that  the 
expression  in  the  eyes  of  Lady  Darrow  changed  to  sur- 

203 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

prise  and  alarm,  "what  is  it?  And  yet  I  guess  the  im- 
port of  that  really  too  severe  look.  You  have  the  aid 
of  a  guilty  conscience,  which  I  have  endured  all  through 
the  night." 

"I  should  think  so!"  exclaimed  Lady  Darrow,  with 
an  outburst  that  in  a  measure  discharged  her  pent-up 
feelings.  "What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  Victoria?  It 
is  idle  to  suggest  that  Senator  Treemon  is  not  here  for  a 
purpose.  Did  you  know  of  his  coming  from  America?" 

"My  dear  aunt,  I  had  not  the  slightest  intimation 
of  it." 

"That  is  good — so  far,"  returned  Lady  Darrow,  re- 
lieved. "So  you  did  not  expect  him?" 

Victoria  hesitated. 

"No,"  she  said,  half  musingly.  "I  cannot  say  that. 
In  fact,  I  rather  thought  he  would  come." 

"To  see  you?" 

"I  fancied  so." 

"My  dear  child!     What  has  he  said  to  you?" 

Victoria  laughed  again. 

"My  dear  aunt!  One  doesn't  have  to  say  things,  you 
know." 

Lady  Darrow  now  laughed,  nervous,  but  reassured  by 
her  niece's  manner. 

"This  is  comforting,  Victoria,"  she  said.  "But  Sen- 
ator Treemon  is  far  too  handsome  and  far  too  attrac- 
tive— he  possesses  too  many  attributes  of  a  disturbing 
character,  to  be  for  long  the  companion  of  a  young  Eng- 
lish girl  of  your  station.  But  he  must  not  misunder- 
stand." 

"No,"  replied  Victoria,  in  a  low  voice,  "he  must  not, 
indeed." 

"My  dear!  my  dear!"  exclaimed  Lady  Darrow,  im- 
patiently. "  It  is  not  possible  that  you  have  encouraged 
him?" 

Victoria  looked  at  her,  shaking  her  head. 
204 


PURPLE   AND    HOMESPUN 

"I  think  not,"  she  said,  with  a  smile.  "Senator 
Treemon  is  a  man  to  encourage  himself.  But  the  fact 
that  he  has  been  restrained — and  entirely — well — nice 
— appealed  to  me." 

"It  might  do  that,"  said  Lady  Darrow,  after  a  pause. 
"One  could  not  well  be  cruel  to  such  a  man  when  he  is 
tactful  and  discreet — I  understand.  But  I  disapprove 
of  this,  wholly." 

Victoria  now  looked  at  her. 

"I  disapprove  of  it,  too — heartily." 

"My  dear  child!"  exclaimed  Lady  Darrow  again. 
"Who  is  he?" 

Victoria  made  another  gesture,  negative,  indefinite. 

"My  dear  aunt,  I  have  asked  that  question  myself. 
An  angel  from  the  spheres — a  creature  out  of  the  great 
nowhere — a  man  who  comes  to  Washington  to  perform 
parliamentary  duties  for  his  government  from  a  great 
Western  void  of  which  he  has  told  me  romantic  stories, 
a  void  arid  and  undeveloped  like  the  wastes  of  Egypt, 
I  suppose.  He  has  the  semblance  of  a  god,  but  he  is 
without  an  Olympus  for  me,  and  dwells  as  distinc- 
tively in  space."  Here  her  voice  grew  soft  and  her  eyes 
moist.  "That's  the  trouble  with  these  Americans — the 
women  come  from  somewhere,  but  the  men  hail  from 
the  unknown." 

Meantime,  engrossed  with  each  other,  they  did  not 
hear  the  rumble  of  wheels  outside,  the  stop  of  a  vehicle 
on  the  gravel,  nor  a  heavy  tread  along  the  hall  approach- 
ing the  chamber.  Disturbed  now,  as  they  looked  up 
Captain  Travers  entered  the  sitting-room.  He  strode 
in,  red,  tall,  and  familiar. 

"Hello!"  he  exclaimed,  pausing  and,  following  their 
words  of  greeting,  regarding  them.  "Is  anything  the 
matter?  Jove!  you  look  as  though  I  had  tumbled 
in  on  a  conspiracy.  Hopkins  says  there's  another 
guest." 

205 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"There  is,"  replied  Lady  Darrow,  with  a  glance  at 
Victoria.  "Senator  Treemon,  an  American." 

"By  Jove!"  And  his  countenance  expressed  his 
growing  surprise.  "It  wasn't  a  conspiracy — it  was  a 
consolation  conference.  A  friend  of  the  Littlefields?" 

"Yes,"  said  Victoria,  quickly,  her  color  rising.  "He 
knows  them." 

"I  thought  so,"  he  grumbled.  "It's  what  you're  let 
in  for  when  you  are  good-natured.  You  give  these 
Americans  a  chance,  and  they  ride  it  fast  enough." 

"He's  a  celebrated  person,"  said  Lady  Darrow.  "A 
friend  of  the  President,  and  also  of  Francis.  Victoria 
met  him  at  Washington  at  the  Embassy  House,  and 
when  we  learned  that  he  was  in  London  we  thought  it 
well  to  have  him  down  for  a  day  or  two.  I  suggested  it 
to  Victoria.  It  might  benefit  your  uncle  to  show  him 
a  little  attention.  One  never  knows,  in  these  matters." 

"  It's  little  I  care  who  he  is,"  rejoined  Captain  Travers, 
carelessly.  "But  in  that  view  it's  your  affair." 

He  drew  off  his  travelling-coat,  and  threw  it  to  a  ser- 
vant who  was  passing  through  the  sitting-room. 

"Does  he  come  about  this  precious  relative  of  Mrs. 
Littlefield,  of  whom  we  have  heard  so  much?"  he  con- 
tinued. 

"Not  at  all — although,  by  chance,  he  seems  to  know 
her." 

Captain  Travers  looked  at  her  suspiciously. 

"Isn't  that  strange?  I  thought  she  was  obscure — 
and  all  that?  Difficulty  in  finding  her,  you  know?" 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  said  Lady  Darrow.  "Why, 
I  thought  you  liked  Mrs.  Littlefield." 

"I  presume  the  madam  is  all  right — but  one  gets  a 
surfeit  of  these  Americans.  Why  the  deuce  they  don't 
stay  at  home  and  content  themselves  with  their  infer- 
nal country  they're  always  boasting  about  is  a  wonder. 
Mrs.  Littlefield  has  gone,  hasn't  she?" 

206 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"Yes;  and  she  has  met  her  niece  in  London.  She 
writes  that  she's  delighted." 

He  shifted  about  uneasily,  and  then  went  up-stairs  to 
wash  away  the  dust  of  his  journey. 

Victoria  was  glad  enough  of  the  interruption,  and 
Lady  Darrow  did  not  press  the  matter  of  Marshall  Tree- 
mon  further.  They  went  together  to  the  drawing-room, 
where  they  found  him  with  Sir  William  and  Lord  Paget. 
The  other  guests  had  not  yet  appeared. 

"Was  that  Travers  who  drove  up  a  moment  since?" 
asked  Sir  William. 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Darrow.  "He  will  be  down  pres- 
ently. Do  you  get  on?" 

"Admirably,"  said  Marshall  Treemon. 

"Capital  story-teller,"  said  Sir  William,  who  had 
done  most  of  the  talking,  Marshall  Treemon  having 
shaken  him  up  and  found  him  garrulous.  "But  Paget 
is  dull  on  the  points." 

"Sir  William  is  unusually  quick,"  said  Marshall  Tree- 
mon, smiling.  "He  has  been  warned  of  our  national 
failing,  and  is  on  guard.  How  natural,  as  strangers, 
that  we  should  talk  these  commonplaces.  But  the 
Englishman  should  be  at  ease.  He  owns  most  of  the 
world,  and  ought  to  know  it.  Sir  William  has  travelled." 

Sir  William  expanded  and  Victoria  smiled.  Her  guest 
was  making  himself  agreeable. 

"I  got  the  point  of  one  story,"  laughed  Lord  Paget; 
"and  that  is,  the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Littlefield's  niece.  I'm 
going  up  to  London  pretty  soon." 

"Do,"  said  Sir  William,  testily;  "and  accept  the 
further  invitation  given  you.  The  Littlefields  are  not 
to  remain  here  long.  We  all  know  what  our  cousins 
across  the  sea  have  done  for  impecunious  titles.  With 
the  opportunities  of  a  voyage  in  the  recovered  young 
lady's  company,  you  may  come  to  be  as  wise  as  Sena- 
tor Treemon  himself." 

207 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Lord  Paget's  reply  to  this  speech  was  checked  by  the 
entrance  of  Captain  Travers.  He  entered  the  drawing- 
room,  pausing  for  an  instant  on  the  threshold  and 
then  coming  forward.  Marshall  Treemon  struggled  to 
keep  his  interest  and  curiosity  from  his  face.  He  re- 
membered the  words  of  Lucia  Harrington.  Here  was 
the  man  whom  destiny  had  chosen  to  favor ;  into  whose 
martial  keeping  custom  and  high  hereditary  tradition 
were  to  deliver  the  girl  who  was  to  himself  the  unat- 
tainable! His  mood  was  both  bitter  and  sarcastic,  but 
as  he  looked  it  was  tempered  with  an  unholy  joy.  He 
squared  his  shoulders  proudly  and  met  the  introduction, 
scarcely  hearing  its  form,  oblivious  of  Lady  Darrow, 
who  made  it.  He  could  not  control  a  swift  side-glance 
at  Victoria,  almost  of  triumph,  before  which  her  eyes 
fell,  as  he  faced  his  rival — he  of  the  yellow  hair,  visage, 
and  mustache,  noting  the  features  that  fluttered  ner- 
vously as  his  own  set  hard  in  composure. 

Something  of  this  Captain  Travers  seemed  to  feel. 
He  stammered,  grew  red,  and  fell  awkwardly  back. 

"This  is  a  great  pleasure,  Captain  Travers,"  said 
Marshall  Treemon,  smoothing  his  manner  with  inward 
malice,  his  voice  measured  and  deliberate.  "I  am  hon- 
ored in  the  acquaintance  of  your  uncle,  the  ambassador 
to  our  country.  I  have  been  charmed  by  this  delight- 
ful English  home,  and  flattered  by  the  attentions  of 
your  noble  friends."  And  he  nodded  to  Sir  William 
and  Lord  Paget.  "You  are  a  kinsman  here,  and  per- 
haps, by  precedent,  in  the  absence  of  Lord  Wemyss,  its 
family  head.  You  will  forgive  me,  if  for  the  moment  I 
am,  therefore,  a  little  formal." 

Victoria's  eyes  sought  him  swiftly,  wondering  at  his 
manner  and  words,  so  unlike  anything  she  had  hereto- 
fore seen  in  him.  She  was  startled  as  she  saw  the  puz- 
zled countenances  of  the  others,  and  then  hurt  at  the 
thought  that  flashed  to  her  mind.  She  flushed  deep- 

208 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

ly,  as  Captain  Travers  flushed  also,  and  stammered 
again : 

"Yes  —  I  can't,  you  know  —  I'm  no  speaker,  my- 
self." 

Marshall  Treemon's  manner  changed  instantly.  He 
had  had  his  unworthy  moment  and  was  ashamed. 

"Few  soldiers  are,  Captain.  They  are  men  of  deeds, 
not  words." 

But  Captain  Travers  was  hopeless.  His  features  now 
deepened  to  a  scowl. 

"I  can't  say — really,"  he  replied. 

"And  I  say,  Travers,  old  chap,"  broke  in  Lord  Paget, 
"he  knows  the  Littlefields." 

Sir  William  came  into  the  breach. 

"Why  shouldn't  he  know  them?"  he  said.  "Come, 
let's  leave  a  subject  that's  threadbare.  We've  missed 
you,  old  man,  and  I'm  rusty  for  a  game  of  bill- 
iards." 

Captain  Travers  stood  irresolute. 

"Have  you  tempted  the  Senator?"  asked  Lady  Dar- 
row.  "All  Americans  play  well." 

She  urged  them  to  the  billiard-room,  turning  to  her 
nephew. 

"You  have  a  message  for  me  from  London,  Algeron, 
I  believe,"  she  said.  "I  will  hear  it  now."  And,  taking 
him  by  the  arm,  she  bore  him  away. 

As  Sir  William  and  Lord  Paget  moved  off,  Marshall 
Treemon  lingered  for  a  word  with  Victoria. 

"Will  you  see  me  after  luncheon?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  the  color  still  in  her  face.  "Go 
with  Sir  William." 

He  hesitated,  his  voice  sinking. 

"It  cannot  be  possible — I  have  not  offended  you?" 

She  replied  quickly,  dashing  her  hair  back  from  her 
temples  with  an  unfamiliar  and  sudden  gesture. 

"What  can  you  mean?"  She  stopped,  as  though  she 
209 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

found  words  difficult.  "You  are  my  guest.  The  sug- 
gestion is  intolerable." 

"Thank  you — and  forgive  me,  also?"  he  said,  gently. 

She  turned  and  left  him  without  a  word,  and  he  went 
into  the  billiard-room  after  the  others. 


CHAPTER  XX 

MARSHALL  TREEMON  VENTURES 

CAPTAIN  TRAVERS  was  waiting  with  Lady  Darrow  for 
Victoria.  He  had  an  explanation  to  demand,  and  in 
his  present  mood  he  did  not  delay.  Lady  Darrow  felt 
it,  and  gave  him  the  sitting-room  for  that  purpose. 
She  was  likewise  resentful,  and  she  lingered  outside  the 
closed  doors  to  see  that  the  servants  kept  away,  and  that 
the  cousins  were  free  from  interruption. 

For  once  Victoria  had  a  mood  of  her  own.  Shaken 
by  the  words  of  Marshall  Treemon,  she  flushed  and  paled 
in  turn.  He  had  been  guilty  of  nothing  beyond  an  ex- 
traordinary and  formal  courtesy,  the  purpose  of  which 
she  only  half  suspected ;  neither  in  demeanor  nor  language 
had  there  been  a  suggestion  of  disrespect,  and  yet  she 
quivered  as  though  under  the  sting  of  insult.  The  shad- 
ows gathered  within  her  own  eyes  as  those  of  Captain 
Travers  continued  dark.  She  was  a  girl  of  spirit,  but 
passion  and  resentment  were  foreign  to  her  nature. 
Now,  however,  behind  her  rising  excitement  was  a  sense 
of  revolt  and  a  pervading  anger. 

She  seated  herself  as  her  aunt  left  the  sitting-room, 
watching  her  cousin  as  he  walked  nervously  about. 
Fortified  by  the  sympathy  of  Lady  Darrow,  he  was  pre- 
paring himself  to  do  justice  to  the  occasion,  but  here, 
as  in  the  presence  of  Marshall  Treemon,  words  were 
difficult.  Something  in  the  quiet  attitude  of  the  girl 
halted  him. 

After  waiting  for  a  time,  during  which  her  own  feel- 
211 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

ings  had  in  a  measure  calmed  themselves,  she  spoke 
first. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Algeron?"  The  tone 
did  not  lack  strength,  nor  her  demeanor  resolution,  but 
in  his  present  temper  he  was  unguarded. 

"Look  here,  Victoria,"  he  answered — "the  time  has 
come  when  I  mean  to  stand  on  my  rights.  By — 

She  interrupted  him  quickly — so  quickly  that  he 
should  have  been  warned. 

"What  are  your  rights?" 

"Ask  my  aunt.  Ask  your  father.  Ask  yourself,  if 
you  mean  to  be  decent  with  me." 

"That's  better,"  she  said;  "a  great  deal  better;  it's 
between  us,  after  all.  You  have  no  rights  with  reference 
to  myself,  except  those  which  I  may  give  you.  And 
I'm  not  thinking  of  you — I'm  thinking  of  myself." 

"By — "     He  began  again,  but  her  look  stopped  him. 

"Don't  take  that  tone  with  me,"  she  said.  "If  I 
were  a  naughty  child,  and  had  been  arraigned  for  some 
sort  of  misconduct,  the  demeanor  of  yourself  and  my 
aunt  could  scarcely  be  more  offensive.  It  has  not  oc- 
curred to  you,  no — I  am  quite  sure  it  hasn't — that  I 
may  not  submit  to  it." 

The  stress  in  her  tone  was  now  sharpened,  and  he 
turned  and  looked  at  her,  his  jaw  fallen.  His  air  was 
that  of  one  who  expected  the  towers  of  St.  Wemyss  to 
collapse  about  them.  He  glanced  at  the  door  through 
which  Lady  Darrow  had  departed,  as  though  he  medi- 
tated an  immediate  appeal  for  help.  His  color  height- 
ened to  a  dull  red,  but  every  trace  of  anger  left  him  as 
his  manner  became  imploring. 

"Why,  Vic — old  girl — now,  I  say — " 

"I  heard  what  you  said,"  she  interrupted,  again,  "as 
far  as  I  permitted  you  to  go.  And  I  will  remind  you 
that  I  have  yet  a  father  who  is  competent  to  adminis- 
ter all  proper  rebuke.  But  I  don't  misunderstand — you 

212 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

are  speaking  as  a  cousin  and  a  suitor.     What  have  I 
done?" 

He  looked  at  her  again,  and  spread  out  his  hands, 
his  voice  almost  apologetic. 

"Why,  think — of  standing  me  up,  before  that  fellow 
in  there,  to  be  made  game  of!  Here — at  St.  Wemyss, 
where  he  has  no  rights  and  where  I — " 

"Yes — where  you — ?" 

"Where  I  have  been  coming  for  years,  and  where — 
yes" — and  he  flamed  a  little — "where  in  time — no  mat- 
ter about  you — I  am  to  be  the  master." 

She  did  not  object  to  this  show  of  spirit,  and  as  she 
recalled  the  scene  her  anger  lightened. 

"I  think  he  mentioned  that — by  way  of  suggestion," 
and  she  dropped  her  head  to  hide  the  trace  of  a  smile. 
"I  did  not  see  you  made  game  of." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  did  with  your  eyes,  then," 
he  stuttered.  "Jove!  It's  lucky  Eglington  and  the 
Carberrys  were  not  there.  It's  enough  that  you  and 
the  rest  were." 

"You  are  unjust,"  she  said.  "No  one  should  affront 
you  at  St.  Wemyss." 

"  I  am  not,"  he  persisted.  "  Who  is  this  man  ?  What's 
he  doing  here,  in  any  event — and  who  is  he  friends  with  ? 
You  never  wrote  of  him,  nor  did  uncle — and  aunt  doesn't 
know  him.  He  comes  as  a  surprise  to  us  all.  Why, 
Vic  —  don't  you  see,  old  girl?  If  we  had  a  houseful, 
and  there  were  ladies — friends  of  his,  and  all  that — I 
could  understand.  But  unless  there's  something  be- 
tween you,  he's  no  more  business  here  than  I  have  at 
his  bally  White  House." 

"He  is  here  to  see  me,"  she  said,  after  thinking  for 
a  moment. 

"Certainly  he  is.  That's  as  plain  as  Westminster  Ab- 
bey on  a  clear  day.  He  followed  you  over  here — and 
we  never  heard  of  him.  You  didn't  speak  of  this." 

213 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"He  came  on  business." 

"He's  not  down  here  on  business.  Come,  Vic,  you 
owe  me  something,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  recognizing  that  it  was  his  sincerity 
that  made  him  bold. 

"Well,  let's  get  at  it,"  he  said,  abruptly. 

"Get  at  it,"  she  responded. 

The  flush  mounted  from  his  yellow  cheeks  and  suf- 
fused his  forehead. 

"Do  you  mean  to  marry  me?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  "I  do;  I  have  never  intended 
anything  else,  when  you  should  ask  me,  and  when  we 
should  get  round  to  it.  I  met  Senator  Treemon  in 
America.  He  seemed  to  like  me,  and  I  couldn't  be 
impolite  to  a  man  who  gave  me  no  occasion  to  be.  He's 
distinguished,  a  friend  of  papa's,  as  I've  said,  and  the 
fact  that  I  seemed  to  attract  him  wasn't  a  cause  for 
anger,  as  I've  come  to  view  it.  I  had  only  to  consider 
my  dignity  and  station,  and  these  he  never  threatened, 
by  even  a  look.  I  doubt  if  you  would  have  been  as  careful. ' ' 

He  fell  back,  his  color  changing  again. 

"Oh  —  well,  now — "  And  his  voice  broke  as  he 
dropped  beside  her,  seeking  to  grasp  both  her  hands  in 
his.  "I  say,  now  —  this  is  rough!  Forgive  me,  Vic, 
won't  you?  Let  the  fellow  go  hang!  It's  not  your 
fault — and  I  can  be  decent  enough  to  the  beggar.  These 
Americans  don't  know,  you  know.  He's  a  gentleman — 
and  looks  well,  and  all  that.  Who  the  devil  can  blame 
him,  or,  for  that  matter,  blame  any  one  in  his  fix?  I'd 
follow  you  across  the  sea  myself,  you  know." 

He  rose  to  his  feet. 

"I  say — aunt!"  he  called. 

Victoria  put  up  her  hand. 

"Travers!     Algeron,  please!" 

As  Lady  Darrow  entered  at  his  call,  he  met  her,  taking 
her  hand  and  dragging  her  forward. 

214 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"I  say,  aunt,"  he  stuttered,  breathlessly,  "we  were 
rough  on  Vic,  I  fear.  But  she'll  forgive  me  now." 

He  stepped  to  the  window,  turning  to  Victoria  as  a 
laugh  came  from  the  billiard-room. 

"You  see — they  are  treating  him  all  right  in  there. 
I  say,  aunt,"  and  he  spoke  now  to  Lady  Darrow,  "I 
was  rude  to  this — Treemon  fellow.  It's  not  right. 
English  hospitality,  you  know." 

He  was  beside  himself  with  joy  and  excitement,  but 
he  was  nearer  to  Victoria  than  he  had  ever  been  before. 

"If  you  will  not  be  rude  to  me,  and  will  tell  me  what 
you  mean,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  you,"  said  Lady  Darrow, 
with  a  laugh.  "Have  you  been  quarrelling?" 

"I  haven't  been  quarrelling,"  said  Captain  Travers, 
his  face  aglow.  "I  started  in  to  expostulate,  but  I  fell 
upon  the  error  of  my  ways;  I'm  happy  enough  now." 
He  could  talk  better  at  times.  "You  see,  our  visitor  is 
a  constraint  upon  the  house.  It  is  so  with  you,  aunt 
— and  he  made  me  creepy — positively,  he  did.  It's 
deuced  strange  that  the  fellow  can  be  so  composed  him- 
self, for  he  looks  a  man  to  see  over  his  nose.  But  he's 
game,  and  stands  up  to  it,  and  stands  up  to  Vic,  who  got 
him  down  here — which  makes  him  all  right,  you  know. 
As  to  the  other  things — Vic  will  tell  you." 

Lady  Darrow  glanced  at  her  niece,  but  the  girl  rose 
quickly. 

"Algeron  can  speak,  if  he  likes,"  she  said.  "I'm 
glad  he  fell  upon  the  error  of  his  ways,  as  he  puts  it. 
He  started  wrong,  and  was  in  the  way  of  a  fall — a  crop- 
per, perhaps. ' '  And  she  glanced  at  him.  ' '  And  it  might 
have  been  a  relief  to  the  situation  if  he  had  gone  ahead 
— and  broken  his  neck." 

Captain  Travers  looked  dubious,  and  his  gratification 
tempered  itself.  Lady  Darrow  frowned. 

"I  didn't  think  you  had  it  in  you,  Victoria — this 
disposition,"  she  said.  "It  must  have  developed  in 

215 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

America;  but  to  think — upon  so  short  a  stay!  Why, 
the  very  atmosphere  must  be  charged  with  it — this  de- 
moralization, and  all  that!  There  are  Mormons  there, 
with  many  wives  each — why,  they  even  debated  it  in 
their  Congress,  of  which  this  man  was  a  member,  as  it 
now  occurs  to  me,  and  seriously,  too.  Debated  it,  as 
though  it  could  be  some  sort  of  a  public  question,  and 
entitled  to  some  sort  of  public  consideration.  Really, 
Victoria,  I  think  Algeron  did  right  to  expostulate." 

"Thank  you,"  returned  the  girl,  quietly.  "I  hope 
you  won't  encourage  him  in  the  habit,  or  I  might  pro- 
voke a  good  deal  of  it.  He's  neither  admirable  nor  at- 
tractive as  an  expostulator.  We  were  really  discussing 
Algeron's  rights.  He  seemed  to  know  them." 

Lady  Darrow  continued  to  regard  her  severely.  This 
mood  was  new. 

"Come,  now,  Vic,"  said  Captain  Travers.  "Don't 
dash  a  fellow,  you  know." 

Victoria  had  recovered  her  composure,  and  beyond  a 
glitter  of  the  eye  she  was  calm. 

A  burst  of  laughter  came  again  from  the  billiard-room. 
It  was  in  a  wing  of  the  building,  a  window  of  which 
looked  towards  a  window  of  the  sitting-room.  There 
was  a  clicking  of  balls  and  a  murmur  of  indistinct  words, 
with  more  laughter.  Marshall  Treemon  was  evidently 
getting  on,  and  Sir  William  was  living  up  to  the  require- 
ments of  English  hospitality. 

"I  am  going  up-stairs,"  said  Victoria,  her  face  now 
pale.  "I  will  leave  you,  aunt,  to  such  revelations  as 
Algeron  sees  fit  to  make." 

She  moved  to  the  door,  and  Captain  Travers,  spring- 
ing to  his  feet,  hastened  to  her  side.  She  turned  to  him 
coldly. 

"I  will  see  you  at  luncheon,"  she  said.  "Afterwards, 
I  owe  some  little  attention  to  the  guest,  who  is  a  con- 
straint upon  the  house." 

216 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

A  constraint  upon  the  house!  Here  was  a  sentence 
with  a  vengeance.  A  constraint  upon  time  -  honored, 
time-worn  St.  Wemyss  —  and  a  guest!  St.  Wemyss! — 
that  had  had  guests,  seasons  out  of  mind,  since  the  days 
when  its  earls  were  belted  and  buckled  adherents  of  a 
court  that  had  set  the  fashion  in  a  hospitality  all  its  own, 
and  received  the  stranger  from  Flanders  to  the  Orient 
unabashed.  In  orderly  and  aristocratic  England — that 
knew  no  constraint  except  that  admitted  by  itself  and 
its  own  customs;  that  knew  no  embarrassment  when  a 
shah  slaughtered  sheep  in  the  gilded  halls  of  a  palace 
set  apart  for  him,  and  allowed  his  retinue  to  execute 
its  own  sweet  observances  even  to  the  threatened  be- 
heading of  a  trembling  but  docile  slave  who  had  offended 
a  drunken  superior!  And  an  American!  These  were 
modern  and  democratic  times  indeed! 

Lady  Darrow  was  compelled  to  believe  the  evidence 
of  her  ears,  but  she  did  what  had  been  charged  to  the 
constraining  guest — she  looked  unutterable  things. 

And  Captain  Travers  lacked  the  courage  to  reply. 
When  Victoria  went  out,  he  turned  to  his  aunt  for 
courage  and  consolation. 

At  luncheon  Victoria  duly  appeared.  She  exhibited 
no  trace  of  her  interview  with  her  cousin,  and  there  was 
no  constraint  upon  the  meal.  Lady  Darrow  was  moved 
to  her  best  humor,  and  was  bland  to  the  point  of  friend- 
liness. Sir  William  had  found  his  voice,  and  talked  con- 
stantly, with  the  title  "Senator"  now  familiar  in  his 
mouth.  It  had  the  sonorous  significance  of  a  kind  of 
ancient  Roman  dignity,  and  the  guest  grew  in  importance 
with  its  reiteration.  The  guest  proved  a  considerate 
listener,  hearing  evidently  with  a  profound  interest 
everything  that  Sir  William  had  to  say.  It  was  refresh- 
ing for  the  Baronet  to  meet  a  man  who,  talking  well 
himself,  was  content  to  yield  with  such  deference  to 
the  years  and  knowledge  of  a  superior  experience.  And 
is  217 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Lord  Paget  had  been  flattered  also.  He  alone  was  re- 
sentful of  Sir  William's  garrulity,  because  the  Senator 
had  likewise  deferred  to  him,  recognizing  the  significance 
of  his  title,  and  showing  such  a  reliance  on  his  statements 
as  to  English  men,  women,  and  things  that  the  younger 
man  was  disposed  to  shoulder  the  Baronet  out  of  the 
conversation  and  pose  as  an  oracle  himself.  The  other 
guests,  the  Carberrys,  Lord  and  Lady,  with  Colonel  Eg- 
lington,  were  content  to  devote  themselves  to  Lady 
Darrow,  keeping  eyes  askance  upon  the  stranger,  how- 
ever, and  regarding  him  all  the  while  with  growing  in- 
terest. The  timid  Miss  Tomlinson  had  now  recovered, 
and,  left  to  herself,  craned  her  long  neck  in  new  inquiry. 
Captain  Travers  was  not  loquacious. 

Victoria  recognized  the  adroitness  of  her  guest,  and 
blushed  at  the  thought  that  he  held  the  silent  man  in 
contempt.  The  thought  was  intolerable,  when  she  re- 
membered her  new  and  definite  relation  to  him.  Her 
guest  was  so  at  his  ease — so  entirely  sure  of  himself; 
and  the  position  had  been  embarrassing,  and  he  had 
conquered  it  and  made  it  his  own.  Was  he  indifferent 
to  her  aunt,  or  was  he  reserving  the  conquest  of  Lady 
Darrow  for  some  later  and  final  effort?  And  Captain 
Travers?  She  blushed  again,  and  her  anger  rose.  Her 
cousin  was  right.  Wherein  was  this  man  privileged  to 
follow  her  to  England  to  distress  and  annoy  her  ?  Very 
well — let  him  speak.  She  had  anticipated  anything  he 
might  say;  already  she  had  protected  her  caste  and 
made  good  her  duty  to  the  traditions  of  her  family; 
she  would  show  him  how  she  could  protect  her  dignity, 
if  he  presumed  upon  the  friendship  she  had  accorded 
him — if  he  forgot  that  he  was  an  alien  and  stranger,  and 
she  the  daughter  of  an  earl  and  an  ambassador,  daring 
one  inch  beyond  the  courtesy  of  her  invitation  and  his 
position  with  reference  to  it. 

Following  the  meal,  with  her  mood  still  on  her,  they 
218 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

went  into  the  drawing-room,  and  the  gentlemen  had 
recourse  to  cigars.  Marshall  Treemon  alone  refrained 
from  smoking;  he  kept  at  the  side  of  Victoria,  while 
Lady  Darrow  joined  the  others,  finding  a  word  in  Sir 
William's  flow  of  speech,  which  still  continued.  Captain 
Travers,  after  an  effort  to  lift  himself,  had  lapsed  into  a 
sullen  silence  again — the  silence  that  he  had  maintained 
during  the  luncheon.  Taciturnity  was  a  trait  with  him, 
and  it  created  no  particular  attention.  Victoria  said 
little.  Marshall  Treemon  was  content  to  look  at  her 
lovely  countenance,  now  normal  in  its  soft  coloring,  and 
watch  for  the  opportunity  which  soon  came  to  him. 

"Let  us  walk  again,"  he  said,  when  the  others  had 
drifted  away  from  them.  "The  woods  were  beautiful 
this  morning,  and  I  am  eager  for  a  stroll  there." 

Victoria  glanced  at  her  aunt,  and  took  her  hat  from 
the  table.  He  thought  it  pretty — a  limp,  clinging  thing, 
without  plumes,  but  gayly  beribboned,  with  those  pale, 
streaming  bands  to  be  tied  against  the  softest  and 
daintiest  of  throats,  but  by  which,  in  the  eyes  of  all 
artists  that  paint  or  imagine  charming  country  maids, 
it  might  swing  gracefully  upon  her  arm.  It  was  Eng- 
lish, rural,  and  becoming.  They  passed  into  the  open 
air,  and,  unnoticed  by  any  except  Captain  Travers,  who 
watched  wrathfully  from  a  distance,  they  strolled  the 
gravelled  length  of  the  lawn,  entering  the  shade  to  the 
left  of  the  building.  They  did  not  seek  its  depths,  but, 
following  a  path  under  a  line  of  oaks  that  grew  upon 
the  outskirts  of  the  wood,  they  took  their  way  towards 
the  station,  a  low  hedge  between  them  and  the  road 
along  which  she  had  driven  him.  Near  the  lodge  she 
stopped  and  seated  herself  upon  a  stone  bench  under  a 
spreading  chestnut.  The  spot  was  cool  and  sylvan,  and 
the  sun,  through  the  leaves,  mottled  the  ground  about 
them  with  patches  of  gold. 

She  had  been  silent  during  their  walk,  and  he,  upon  his 
219 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

part,  had  said  little.  He  had  been  thinking.  He  stood 
beside  her  now,  his  gaze  covering  the  fair  English  land- 
scape, with  its  strange  sense  of  opulence  and  richness 
to  his  unfamiliar  eyes.  Its  droop  of  foliage,  its  gentle 
swell  of  distant  upland,  the  lines  of  roadway  between  the 
accompanying  strips  of  hedge.  They  were  alone,  the 
time  was  auspicious,  and  it  was  his.  The  moment  was 
his — that  moment  to  which  he  had  looked,  for  which  he 
had  longed,  and  which  he  dreaded.  He  was  both  cheer- 
ful and  oppressed.  He  had  no  longer  to  call  upon  any 
stress  of  manner  or  practise  any  figure  of  speech  or 
gesture.  Notwithstanding  her  recent  feeling,' the  shad- 
ow of  which  was  still  over  her,  and  her  expectancy,  she 
thought  him  noble  of  manner  and  both  graceful  and 
delicate  of  glance  and  bearing. 

He  looked  at  her  now,  and  the  picture  engrossed  him; 
her  arms,  bared  to  the  elbow,  resting  upon  her  lap  and 
clasped  together;  her  form  bent  slightly  forward,  with 
an  air  of  listless  weariness;  her  face  composed,  but  her 
eyes  looking  afar  off,  as  though  she  saw  something  be- 
yond the  blue  horizon,  with  its  snow-piled,  silver  clouds, 
that  appealed  to  and  absorbed  her.  He  fancied  that 
he  was  the  centre  of  the  picture,  and,  while  he  realized 
his  danger,  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  avoid  it  or  avert 
it.  She  appealed  to  him  with  such  strength,  the  sight 
of  her  awakened  in  him  such  a  flood  of  tenderness,  that 
reason,  prudence,  the  memory  of  Lucia  Harrington's 
words,  his  own  restraint — all  were  swept  away  in  the 
gush  of  feeling  that  overwhelmed  him. 

"Victoria!"  he  exclaimed.  "You  know  that  I  love 
you! — love  you! — love  you!" 

She  started  as  his  words,  sharp  in  her  ear,  rang  with  the 
intensity  of  his  emotion.  He  turned  passionately  towards 
her,  flaming  the  more  because  such  an  outburst  could  only 
come  in  a  moment  of  supreme  crisis,  when  his  feelings  es- 
caped from  their  habitual  control  and  overthrew  him. 

220 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

She  put  up  her  hand  appealingly,  lifting  her  face  to 
his,  free  from  the  anger  in  which  she  had  expected  to 
cloud  it,  but,  instead,  startled  and  wet  with  quick  tears. 

"You  must  not,"  she  said.  "I  am  engaged  to  marry 
my  cousin,  Captain  Travers." 

He  stopped  suddenly,  the  blood  receding  from  his  face, 
his  whole  nature  shocked  at  the  check  upon  his  feelings. 

"I  told  him  I  would  marry  him,  this  morning." 

"Since  I  spoke  to  you?" 

"Yes." 

She  sat  very  still,  white  and  trembling. 

He  looked  again  over  the  English  landscape — the  light, 
sunshine,  and  joy  gone  from  it.  It  was  done,  and  this 
was  the  end  of  it.  He  had  made  his  journey  to  try  out 
his  folly,  flitting  about  the  candle,  against  counsel,  his 
own  judgment,  his  inward  promptings,  and  every  danger 
signal  that  custom  could  set  along  his  reckless  pathway ; 
and  here  he  was,  bareheaded  and  helpless  before  the  in- 
evitable, humiliated  and  ashamed.  He  must  needs  put 
both  hands  in  the  fire,  and  he  had  done  so. 

"Well,"  he  said,  slowly.  "My  felicitations.  I'll  not 
be  stilted  and  formal  with  you,  asking  you  to  forgive 
what  I  have  said,  and  all  that;  but  we'll  let  it  go  as  it  is. 
Perhaps  I  was  a  fool  to  speak — although  I'm  not  sorry 
that  I  did.  I  doubt  if  any  lover  ever  met  a  moment  like 
this  in  anger,  but  I  do — it's  deep  down  in  my  heart, 
bitter  and  fierce.  I  could  curse  my  luck,  the  stars,  the 
universe — like  the  patriarchs  of  old;  but  it  will  do  no 
good,  and  I  have  in  part  prepared  myself.  You  brought 
me  down  speedily,  from  a  great  height,  and  the  fall  was 
hard.  Let  it  at  least  go  to  my  sincerity,  and  measure 
up  my  disappointment  somewhat.  I'll  say  no  more." 

She  did  not  answer  him,  but  rose  quietly,  and  they 
returned  together  to  the  house.  Neither  spoke,  and  at 
the  door  they  parted,  he  entering  the  deserted  drawing- 
room  and  she  going  up-stairs. 

221 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Victoria  was  ill  that  night,  and  did  not  reappear,  and 
the  following  morning,  as  her  indisposition  continued, 
Marshall  Treemon,  under  polite  protests  from  Lady  Dar- 
row,  who  begged  to  see  him  later  at  Park  Lane,  took  his 
departure  from  St.  Wemyss. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IN    LONDON 

THE  weather  had  changed  in  London,  and  it  came  on 
to  rain.  For  two  days  Marshall  Treemon  had  kept  the  se- 
clusion of  Claridge's,  away  from  the  noise  and  glamour 
of  the  City.  He  was  chagrined  to  think  of  how  fruitless 
had  been  his  journey  and  his  wooing.  It  now  oppressed 
him  with  a  sense  of  humiliation,  a  feeling  that  gave 
promise  of  consolation  and  relief.  He  was  human  enough 
to  recall  a  suspicion  of  satisfaction  in  the  demeanor  of 
Captain  Travers  at  his  departure,  and  he  knew  that 
among  the  guests  left  behind,  Sir  William  and  the  Car- 
berrys,  he  would  be  an  object  of  amusing  and  malicious 
innuendo.  This  did  not  conduce  to  his  peace  of  mind, 
although  they  were  strangers,  and  it  was  petty  in  the 
sum  of  his  overwhelming  disappointment.  No  man  who 
sets  his  heart  upon  a  woman,  and  exalts  her  in  his 
dreams,  is  ever  satisfied  to  renounce  her.  The  blow  is 
harder  when  she  renounces  him.  Loss  may  be  endured 
with  patience — but  rejection,  never. 

He  was  restless,  seeking  to  fix  his  mind  upon  a  book 
which  he  had  purchased  at  the  news-stand  below,  but 
the  rain,  beating  against  the  window,  distracted  his 
thoughts.  A  servant  knocked  upon  the  door.  His 
mail  had  been  light,  but  on  yesterday  a  steamer  came  in, 
and  he^took  the  package  handed  him  and  seated  him- 
self to  go  through  it.  As  he  turned  over  the  letters, 
listlessly,  business  and  political,  which  had  been  for- 
warded, he  started  at  one  envelope  bearing  the  St. 

223 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Wemyss  crest.  With  nervous  haste  he  tore  it  open, 
glancing  at  the  signature,  although  he  knew  the  writing, 
to  assure  himself  that  it  was  not  from  Lady  Darrow. 
Victoria  had  written  for  herself.  She  did  not  inscribe 
his  name,  but  wrote  as  follows: 

"Mv  DEAR  FRIEND, — I  feel  that  there  is  something  due  you, 
following  your  declaration  to  me  and  your  departure  from  my 
house.  I  find  that  I  cannot  be  content  unless  I  say  this.  I 
would  not  have  you  remember  me  with  bitterness,  and  I  write 
this  letter  in  order  that  it  may  not  be  so.  I  charge  you,  in  our 
association,  with  a  certain  deliberation  that  I  believe  I  under- 
stand, that  in  a  measure  justifies  the  feeling  I  have  had  for  you, 
my  present  feeling,  and  that  relieves  me  as  to  your  state  of 
mind.  It  has  long  been  the  design  of  my  family  that  I  should 
marry  my  cousin.  He  has  had  reason  to  believe  that  I  would 
do  so,  and  when  your  coming  to  St.  Wemyss  gave  him  warning 
of  your  possible  regard  for  me  and  its  intent,  he  spoke,  and  I 
accepted  him  out  of  a  sense  of  duty  to  all  concerned.  You  came 
far  for  so  little — from  my  heart,  I  would  that  I  could  give  you 
more.  'The  rest  is  silence.'  Always, 

"VICTORIA." 

He  read  this  epistle  as  a  man  famishing  with  thirst 
drains  a  cup  of  cooling  water.  She  loved  him — he  knew 
it!  He  read  it  again  and  again,  pressing  it  to  his  lips 
as  he  walked  the  floor,  the  beating  rain  without  echoing 
to  the  beat  of  the  blood  at  his  heart.  She  loved  him! 

Then  he  sat  down  to  write  an  answer — a  grateful, 
spontaneous  answer,  fervid  with  the  relief  in  his  breast. 
But  as  he  looked  again  at  her  letter,  the  quotation  at 
its  close  made  him  pause.  She  would  feel  his  relief 
without  words.  He  must  respect  her  wishes. 

Restless  again,  he  walked  the  floor  until  he  had  re- 
gained something  of  his  composure,  and,  anxious  to  di- 
vert his  mind,  he  remembered  that  he  had  not  yet  seen 
the  Littlefields.  He  had  speculated  somewhat  as  to 
Rose  Letcher,  and  intended  to  call  on  her  when  he  had 
mastered  the  disappointment  that  had  kept  him  within 
doors. 

224 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Summoning  a  servant,  he  ordered  a  cab,  and,  dressing 
himself,  he  went  below  to  find  it  waiting  at  the  entrance. 
It  was  a  short  drive  from  the  hotel  to  the  address  of  Mrs. 
Littlefield,  and  on  sending  up  his  card  the  haste  with 
which  the  man  returned  gave  evidence  of  his  welcome. 
He  was  ushered  immediately  into  the  visitor's  apart- 
ment of  the  sumptuous  suite,  where  he  found  the  hostess 
standing  to  receive  him,  with  two  out-stretched  hands. 

"My  dear  Mr.  Treemon!"  she  exclaimed.  "Why 
have  you  neglected  us?  We've  been  all  impatience 
here,  and  I've  a  letter  from  dear  Lady  Darrow,  telling 
me  that  you  were  at  St.  Wemyss.  You  didn't  men- 
tion to  Rose  that  you  were  going  there." 

"I  did  not  know  it  myself,"  he  laughed.  "St.  We- 
myss meant  nothing  to  either  of  us  upon  the  steamer, 
and  it  was  only  after  my  arrival  that  I  learned  of  Lady 
Victoria's  absence  from  London.  I  was  invited  down, 
and  when  I  got  there — it  had  some  surprises  for  me, 
also." 

"Certainly.  I  can  understand  that.  And  to  think 
that  you  knew  my  dear  child,  and  have  been  her  friend!" 

"Where  is  she?" 

"She  is  here — the  lovely  creature!  I  have  been  in 
raptures.  She  is  dying  to  see  you,  and  yet  she  holds 
back,  that  we  may  have  a  preliminary  word.  She  is 
simply  perfect — my  sister  over  again!" 

Mrs.  Littlefield,  encouraged  by  his  smile  and  happy 
in  her  pent-up  enthusiasm,  continued  to  relieve  her  sur- 
charged feelings.  Marshall  Treemon  had  been  one  topic 
of  conversation  between  herself  and  her  niece  which 
they  could  not  exhaust,  and  to  which  they  returned 
when  Mrs.  Littlefield's  affection  choked  her  in  its  excess. 
She  was,  therefore,  sure  of  his  sympathy. 

"And  as  yet  I  can  scarcely  do  anything  for  the  poor 
child,"  she  went  on.  "I  find  her  made  and  ready  to  be 
loved,  and  to  love  me,  but  she's  timid.  She  has  needed 

225 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

money,  and  hence  shrinks  at  its  mention  by  me,  when 
I  tell  her  that  all  that  I  have  is  hers.  Her  poor  little 
trunk — when  Colby  and  I  have  thirty!  I  would  have 
her  at  once  to  the  jeweller's  but  for  fear  of  hurting  her 
feelings,  and  it  was  only  day  before  yesterday  that  she 
consented  to  go  to  Regent  Street  for  some  gowns.  She 
has  worked — poor  thing,  earning  her  living  with  her 
pen,  and  even  speaking  on  public  questions — and  she  a 
girl!  She  seems  so  cultivated — but  I'm  no  judge.  You 
know  her  better,  there,  Senator." 

"I  know  that  she  is  gifted  —  marvellously  so,  Mrs. 
Littlefield,"  he  returned,  "and  a  surprise  is  in  store  for 
Mr.  Littlefield  on  his  coming.  When  his  strong  mind 
meets  her  fine  one,  you  will  see  a  union  that  will  help  to 
make  a  happy  family." 

"O-o-oh!"  And  Mrs.  Littlefield  clasped  her  hands  in 
delight.  "You  are  really  the  truest  of  friends!" 

Rose  now  entered  the  room,  and  Marshall  Treemon 
stepped  forward  to  greel  her.  She  exhibited  a  certain 
shyness  in  the  presence  of  her  new  relative.  He  could 
guess  that  the  past  few  days  had  been  trying,  in  the 
effort  of  her  independent  spirit  to  deal  with  the  situa- 
tion in  which  she  found  herself. 

"Welcome,  Senator  Treemon,"  she  said,  giving  him 
her  hand.  "We  thought  you  had  deserted  us." 

She  looked  the  change  that  had  come  to  her.  Whether 
the  costume  which  she  wore,  a  filmy  black  silk  trimmed 
with  costly  lace,  was  an  extravagance  of  the  platform 
and  the  best  she  had  brought  from  America,  or  a  recent 
acquisition  from  Regent  Street,  he  did  not  know,  but  it 
became  her  wonderfully.  The  admiration  in  his  eyes 
was  visibly  pleasant  to  her.  The  ivory  teeth,  that  he 
thought  perfect,  showed  through  the  red  of  her  lips,  and 
she  seated  herself  near  him  with  a  graceful  gesture  as  he 
resumed  his  own  chair,  which  indicated  to  him  how 
readily  she  was  adapting  herself. 

226 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"He's  a  fortunate  man  whose  absence  of  a  week  is 
lamented."  And  his  manner  was  light.  "Mrs.  Little- 
field  was  always  inclined  to  spoil  me.  If  you  join  her, 
I  shall  never  get  out  of  the  family  debt." 

"Were  not  Lady  Darrow  and  Victoria  good  to  you?" 
asked  Mrs.  Littlefield. 

Somehow  Rose  Letcher  felt  that  this  was  an  indiscreet 
speech  on  the  part  of  her  aunt.  Yet  his  countenance 
bore  no  testimony,  and  he  answered,  calmly: 

"Beyond  my  deserts,  of  course.  But  Lady  Darrow 
I  scarcely  know,  and  St.  Wemyss  strained  a  point  in 
my  invitation.  Lord  Wemyss,  however,  is  an  ambas- 
sador, and  I  am  political — you  understand  Washington." 

"Surely.     Did  you  meet  Captain  Travers?" 

"Yes." 

And  now  something  disturbing  about  Rose  Letcher 
conveyed  itself  to  him.  He  could  not  define  the  sensa- 
tion that  came  to  him,  or  why  it  came. 

"I  am  going  to  leave  you  young  people  together," 
said  the  good  lady,  rising  and  moving  towards  the  door. 
"Rose,  dear  child,  has  had  a  surfeit  of  me.  I  have  not 
permitted  her  out  of  my  sight,  for  fear  I  should  wake 
and  find  her  coming  a  dream." 

"Do  not  go, "he  said,  politely.     "I  am  quite  sure — " 

"You  are  quite  sure  it  would  be  a  relief,"  she  laughed, 
"if  you  were  not  so  good.  He  is  to  stay  to  dinner,  Rose." 

She  left  the  room,  and  as  the  door  closed  behind  her 
Marshall  Treemon  turned  to  his  companion. 

The  girl  smiled  faintly. 

"What  a  situation!"  she  said.  "My  relatives  are  rich 
beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice.  Think  of  it!  Mr.  Little- 
field  cables  three  times  daily — letters,  veritable  letters!" 

"Does  it  tempt  you?" 

"It  tempts  me — yes.  I  have  lain  awake  nights  to 
realize  the  truth.  I  am  going  to  accept  it  for  all  that 
it  is  worth." 

227 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"That  is  wise,"  he  replied,  earnestly.  "Your  aunt's 
husband  is  a  man  of  whom  you  need  have  no  fear.  You 
are  young — and — " 

"Say  it,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  with  a  smile.  "Say 
it — if  you  dare." 

"I  dare,"  he  laughed.  "You  are  young  and  lovely. 
Here  is  pride  and  opportunity.  To  rebel  would  be  a 
sin." 

She  sighed,  the  blush  still  on  her  face. 

"It  is  pleasant,"  she  murmured.  "It  is  pleasant  to 
be  spoken  to  like  a  lady,  and  treated  with  delicacy  and 
grace.  I  vow  I  never  thought  to  feel  it.  But  pride  and 
opportunity  are  inspiring — and  sometimes  demoralizing. 
Forgive  me.  I  am  not  conventional,  as  yet.  I  will 
avail  myself  of  all  the  privileges  of  ignorance  before  I 
part  with  them.  Are  you  wealthy,  Senator  Treemon?" 

"Not  in  the  sense  that  you  are  wealthy — or  will  be," 
he  said,  with  a  laugh.  "Your  uncle  would  call  me  a 
poor  man;  but  I  have  a  little  million  that  combined 
luck  and  industry  have  helped  me  to  make." 

"I  thought  so."  And  she  sighed,  again  remembering 
' '  Forever ' '  Maggie .  Not  yet  was  she  persuaded  to  tell  him 
that  she  knew,  and  how  his  conduct  had  impressed  her. 

He  reverted  to  their  voyage,  and  spoke  again  of  their 
journey  together,  laughing  at  its  memories.  He  told  her 
of  London,  and  what  they  might  see  during  the  coming 
week — the  plays,  the  parks,  the  museum  and  its  mani- 
fold treasures.  The  rain  had  ceased  without,  and  a  single 
shaft  of  sunshine  stole  between  the  heavy  curtains  of 
the  room.  A  half  hour  passed  pleasantly.  His  spirits 
lightened,  until  she  spoke  of  the  country  and  its  beauty, 
and  here  he  fell  silent.  She  noticed  this,  and  in  the 
pause  of  a  moment  the  bell  without  rang  faintly. 

"Another  cable,"  she  said.  "They  punctuate  the 
day,  with  each  a  point  of  happiness  for  my  aunt.  I 
trust  that  my  presence  really  adds  to  it." 

228 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"I  wish  I  might  make  happiness  for  some  one,"  he 
said. 

She  laughed. 

"Your  career,  like  mine,  Senator,  has  just  begun,  if 
you.  will  so  regard  it.  With  your  high  position — and 
the  wealth  which  you  affect  to  think  so  little." 

He  shook  his  head  as  she  regarded  him  inquiringly. 

"Perhaps  it  is  ended,"  he  said. 

He  thought  suddenly  of  Victoria  Wemyss. 

1 '  But  really — "  He  hesitated,  half  halted  as  he  spoke, 
moved  by  a  quick  impulse  that  urged  him  on.  "I  am 
poverty-stricken  to-day,  despite  a  cause  for  happiness. 
Before  you  become  conventional  I  am  tempted  to  ce- 
ment our  friendship — I  feel  so  certain  of  you." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  in  surprise.  "You  may  feel 
so,  Senator  Treemon." 

"It  is  I  who  shall  thank  you.  I  scarcely  know  why 
I  ask  your  charity — but  I've  a  letter  which  cheers  while 
it  depresses,  and  makes  me  poor  indeed." 

She  looked  at  him  anxiously. 

If  he  had  known  more  of  women  and  their  influence, 
of  their  appeal  to  the  male  temperament,  he  might  have 
understood  why  she  spoke.  A  man  with  a  bruised  heart 
will  hide  it  from  his  fellows,  but  he  loves  to  bare  it  to 
feminine  sympathy ;  some  instinct  makes  him  sure  of  it. 

"The  letter  is  from  Miss  Wemyss.  She  is  Lady  Vic- 
toria here;  in  Washington  she  was  Miss  Wemyss,  but 
she  will  always  be  Victoria  to  me." 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  suddenly.  "You  asked  her  to 
marry  you — and,  is  it  possible  that  she  refused?" 

He  drew  a  deep  breath.  Her  manner,  her  accent,  the 
look  in  her  eyes  assured  him  that  his  impulse  had  been 
true. 

"No,"  he  replied.     "No." 

She  was  startled,  and  blushed  so  deeply  that  her  con- 
fusion embarrassed  him. 

229 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"Oh,  Senator  Treemon!"  she  cried.  "Will  you  ever 
pardon  me?" 

"You  were  right,"  he  replied,  quickly.  "You  under- 
stand— I  see.  I  did  not  ask  her  to  marry  me,  but  I 
told  her  of  my  love;  I  came  to  England  to  tell  her  of 
it.  I  knew  that  we  were  not  for  each  other.  She  is  to 
marry  her  cousin,  and  the  letter  she  writes  me  is  rich 
in  sympathy.  It  offers  the  joy  of  her  friendship." 

Rose  Letcher  averted  her  face,  breathing  deeply  her- 
self. She  smiled,  and  then  her  heart  bounded.  Here 
was  an  opportunity  to  match  the  rest  that  had  come  to 
her — an  opportunity  so  easy  that  the  sense  of  her  smile 
permeated  her  whole  being.  She  need  not  waste  the 
future — it  collapsed  about  her  with  an  Aladdin's  lamp 
for  each  hand.  Her  life  had  been  a  practical  life,  and 
she  had  known  people  and  men.  She  had  not  known 
Marshall  Treemon  except  as  he  had  revealed  himself 
upon  the  steamer  and  now,  but  she  had  little  confidence 
in  any  wide  difference  in  the  male  nature  as  she  had  seen 
it.  This  man,  loving  hopelessly,  was  free;  and  he  was 
attractive,  high  in  place,  and  voluntarily  sought  her 
sympathy.  Love  —  and  for  a  woman!  Why,  if  she 
had  been  alone  she  would  have  called  to  her  relief  the 
roundest  oath  that  she  had  ever  heard  Jacob  Roth  utter. 
She  had  never  been  afraid,  and  if  now  she  found  herself 
growing  tender  she  was  not  to  part  with  her  wisdom. 
There  was  one  name  which  she  hesitated  to  mention, 
but  the  situation  was  growing  clearer.  If  Victoria 
Wemyss  was  engaged  to  marry  Captain  Travers,  and 
could  not  marry  Marshall  Treemon  because  of  it,  it  was 
not  likely  that  the  past  needed  further  consideration. 

Her  manner  changed;  her  eyes  softened  until  they 
reflected  a  gentle  light,  and  she  modulated  her  voice 
until  it  was  liquid  in  its  music. 

" If  you  knew,"  she  said.  "If  you  only  knew,  Senator 
Treemon.  A  confidence  is  dear  to  a  woman's  heart — 

230 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

and  this  is  sacred.  Really,  I  am  anxious  now  to  know 
Lady  Victoria.  I  want  to  meet  this  charming  woman 
who  could  so  inspire  you.  When  I  do,  you  will  let  me 
tell  you  of  her?" 

"If  you  will,"  he  replied. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  putting  out  her  hand  with 
inimitable  and  winning  grace,  letting  it  linger  for  a  tender 
instant  in  his.  "We  are  friends  indeed." 

Mrs.  Littlefield  entered. 

"I  just  couldn't  stay  out,  my  children,"  she  said. 
"You  will  forgive  a  selfish  old  woman?  Have  you  en- 
joyed the  interval?" 

"It  is  lovely,"  said  Marshall  Treemon. 

Rose  Letcher  smiled  at  the  momentary  perplexity 
which  this  irrelevant  answer  brought  to  her  aunt's  face. 

"Senator  Treemon  will  stay  to  dinner,"  said  Rose. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

JOSIAH   TURTLE 

DOWN  on  the  East  Side  things  around  "  the  Corners  " 
had  changed  somewhat.  It  was  a  subject  of  endless  dis- 
cussion in  the  back  room  of  Mat  Durgan's  phonograph 
store.  Evening  after  evening  friends  gathered  there, 
to  speak  of  "  Forever  "  Maggie's  new  house  next  to  the 
Wellobys',  of  Maggie's  new  dress  and  feathers,  and  of 
Blade  Rooney's  new  clothes.  The  new  house  was  a 
source  of  continued  interest.  Jane  Durgan  had  in- 
spected it  from  cellar  to  top  floor,  and  gone  into  ecstasies 
over  the  plush  chairs  and  the  new  carpets.  Mrs.  Magee 
had  been  with  her,  and  Rose  Letcher  had  aided  by 
counsel  and  admonition  in  its  furnishing.  But  chiefly 
Mrs.  Welloby  had  influenced  Maggie  in  her  new  depart- 
ure, for  Mrs.  Welloby  had  "taken  her  up,"  and  Maggie 
was  elated  and  proud  in  consequence. 

"She's  outgrown  her  poor  friends,"  said  Mrs.  Magee, 
complainingly ;  "but  what  can  you  expect?  I  told  Dan 
the  way  it  would  be,  and  you  never  can  count  for  sure 
on  people  with  drink  in  the  family.  She'll  be  taking  to 
the  wines  and  such  things  herself  next.  See  the  man 
that's  hanging  around  her  now." 

This  reference  was  to  Josiah  Turtle,  who  had  become 
quite  a  figure  in  the  neighborhood  of  "  the  Corners."  He 
was  some  sort  of  a  broker  over  in  the  Broad  Street 
region,  a  far-away  country  to  the  East  Side,  and  a  land 
of  as  many  rumors  as  Wall  Street.  People  did  not 
understand  his  business  very  well,  but  the  Wellobys  now 

232 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

knew  him,  and  accepted  him,  and  he  had  come  to  be 
Blade  Rooney's  friend.  Josiah  Turtle  was  dressy,  with 
a  fondness  for  colors  and  checks,  and  he  wore  large  rings 
and  a  brilliant  scarf-pin.  He  was  political  also,  to  a 
degree,  claiming  some  influence  with  Tammany  Hall, 
and  a  "hail-fellow"  with  all  the  doubtful  characters 
that  gathered  about  the  drinking-places  at  the  corners 
of  the  streets  that  ran  out  of  Avenue  A.  He  sought  to 
be  a  hail-fellow  with  Dan  Magee  also,  but  the  quiet  police- 
man received  his  advances  with  reserve.  Dan  did  not 
like  to  be  slapped  on  the  back  and  treated  with  familiar- 
ity, particularly  by  a  man  of  whose  influence  with  Blade 
he  did  not  approve.  But  he  saw  no  cause  for  open  rupt- 
ure. Josiah  Turtle's  coming  to  "the  Corners"  was  re- 
cent, and  his  presence  unexplained;  but  he  made  friends 
readily  and  spent  money  freely.  Some  thought  him  in- 
terested in  the  policy-shops  along  the  street,  and  others, 
with  a  feeling  of  awe,  believed  him  to  be  an  insurance 
solicitor.  At  all  events  he  was  a  grade  higher  in  the 
social  scale  than  the  fellows  whom  he  now  honored  with 
his  companionship,  and  they  appreciated  his  attentions 
and  received  him  accordingly.  He  had  conceived  a  sud- 
den fancy  for  Maggie  and  proffered  his  friendship  to  the 
Durgans.  Jane  received  him  kindly  enough,  for  she  was 
flattered  by  his  deference  and  impressed  by  the  good 
things  he  had  to  say  of  her  friend. 

"Why,  Maggie!"  he  had  exclaimed,  in  his  off-hand 
and  boisterous  manner,  coarse  but  evidently  well-in- 
tentioned. "She's  sure  the  girl  for  any  man!  It's  not 
her  little  money,  you  know;  it's  her  lady-like  instincts. 
She's  on  her  way  up,  and  I  congratulate  the  man  who's 
next  to  her.  I'm  that  respectful  that  I  take  my  hat  off  at 
all  times,  Mrs.  Durgan.  I  sure  know  how  to  treat  a  lady. ' ' 

Mat  Durgan,  quiet  and  undemonstrative,  received  him 
coldly,  but  the  Wellobys  continued  to  think  him  a  good 
fellow,  and  Maggie  often  saw  him  there. 
'6  233 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"Sure  Blade  need  not  work  at  the  foundry,  nor  even 
on  the  buildings,"  he  had  said  to  her,  when  Blade  prompt- 
ly stopped  work  following  their  move  into  the  new  house. 
"He's  cut  out  for  something  better,  and  needs  a  little 
time  to  take  his  bearings.  Schooling?  Why,  he's  got 
it.  The  streets  are  a  school,  and  New  York  is  a  liberal 
education  for  a  boy  like  Blade.  He's  got  the  proper 
pride,  and  as  for  courage — look  at  the  way  he  handles 
his  fists.  I'm  not  a  ring  man  myself,  but  I  know  it 
qualifies  a  lad  for  soldiering,  and  he'll  get  into  the  army 
with  a  commission,  after  awhile.  That's  better  than 
the  police  force,  ain't  it?  I've  seen  the  officers  take  to 
such.  Don't  you  see  how  the  people  love  a  jockey? 
Well,  a  man  in  the  ring  makes  a  better  name  for  him- 
self, and  stands  a  bigger  space  in  the  papers,  than  the 
President.  That's  so,  ain't  it?  Leave  him  to  me." 

"Forever"  Maggie  did  not  understand  these  things. 
She  simply  knew  that  she  was  happy  and  aglow  with  her 
new  fortune.  The  Wellobys  were  kind,  and  Mrs.  Wello- 
by  shopped  with  her  in  the  Sixth  Avenue  stores.  They 
had  carriage  rides  in  the  park,  and  on  one  occasion  they 
took  Mrs.  Pedrick  and  Jane  Durgan  with  them.  The 
almost  childish  delight  of  Maggie  and  Jane  pleased 
Mrs.  Welloby  immensely,  and  she  relaxed  the  more, 
whereby  Jane  began  to  climb  the  social  scale  also.  The 
plumber's  wife  was  so  distinctly  superior  to  most  of 
her  neighbors  about  Avenue  A  that  the  three  women 
looked  up  to  her  and  were  glad  to  be  seen  in  her  com- 
pany. 

"  Forever  "  Maggie  was  truth  itself,  and  Mrs.  Welloby 
soon  learned  the  extent  of  her  income.  It  did  not  induce 
envy,  but  it  induced  respect.  Already  the  plumber's 
wife  was  hunting  among  her  relatives  for  some  eligible 
young  kinsman — some  one  who  might  be  early  on  hand 
and  help  the  girl  do  the  situation  justice.  Mr.  Turtle's 
intentions  were  not  significant,  in  view  of  his  own  direct 

234 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

speech,  and.  secretly,  Mrs.  Welloby  liked  him  on  her  own 
account.  He  had  come  suddenly  into  her  circle,  in- 
troduced there  by  Professor  Frank.  He  had  introduced 
himself  to  the  editor  by  bringing  unexpected  business 
to  his  paper. 

Poor  Dan  Magee  felt  that  he  was  out  of  it,  and  yet 
he  scarcely  knew  why.  His  duties  kept  him  apart  from 
Maggie's  now  too  busy  life,  and  he  saw  her  only  when 
he  could  lay  his  stick  and  helmet  aside.  He  loved  best 
to  meet  her  in  Jane  Durgan's  back  room,  where  she 
went  oftener  than  to  any  other  place,  and  he  did  not  feel 
at  home  in  the  new  house.  It  was  too  fine  for  him,  he 
said,  and  too  unlike  Maggie.  Of  course  she  was  worth 
it.  She  was  worth  anything,  God  bless  her! — but,  he 
did  not  know — and  here  he  would  lapse  into  melancholy. 
Jacob  Roth  felt  sorry  for  him  and  tried  to  cheer  him. 

"You  fool,"  he  would  say,  "you  don't  understand 
women.  Maggie's  true  to  the  core;  and  this  business 
is  temporary.  Wait  until  she's  had  her  fling.  I  feel 
worse  about  the  boy,  for  that  means  something.  She 
lets  him  have  money,  and  that's  bad;  but  how  can  you 
say  anything  to  a  happy  girl  like  her,  that  in  the  present 
is  making  up  for  a  good  many  hard  hours  that  you  and 
I  don't  know  anything  about?" 

And  Dan  Magee  sighed  and  walked  his  beat  discon- 
solate, growing  restive  and  impatient  under  the  con- 
tinued complaining  of  his  mother,  who  was  indignant 
and  full  of  revilings. 

"She's  not  straight,  I  tell  ye,"  she  said,  with  a  shake 
of  her  head.  "If  it  had  been  Jane,  now!  Ah,  it's  a 
mother  that  knows!" 

"She  is  straight,  mother."  And  Dan  shook  his  head 
upon  his  own  account.  "I  don't  understand  this  devil- 
ish thing  of  money  as  much  as  I  would  like  to  have 
a  lot  of  it.  The  Professor  rants  about  it,  the  unions 
strike  for  it,  and  Jacob  Roth  curses  every  time  he  thinks 

235 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

of  Wall  Street  and  Fifth  Avenue ;  but  it's  never  troubled 
me.  Enough  to  eat,  enough  to  wear,  with  good  shelter, 
something  pleasant  for  you,  and  I'm  content.  Of  course, 
there's  an  evening  at  the  theatre  with  Maggie,  and  a 
chance  after  awhile  to  get  up  on  the  force.  She  talked 
about  my  being  a  sergeant  at  first;  but  somehow  the 
thing  didn't  stick  with  me,  and  I  think  she's  forgotten 
it  now." 

And  Jacob  Roth  suddenly  ceased  to  be  a  comforter. 
Rose  Letcher  had  gone  from  "  the  Corners,"  with  scarce 
a  good-bye  to  any  one.  Professor  Frank  knew  almost 
as  little  about  the  matter  as  himself,  although  Jacob 
was  inclined  to  doubt  this.  With  his  bull-dog  inclina- 
tion, he  felt  like  shaking  information  out  of  the  whiskered 
editor  by  a  grasp  on  his  thin  throat. 

"I  scarcely  understand  about  it,"  explained  the  Pro- 
fessor. "She  got  word  of  some  kind  from  abroad,  and 
went  away  on  short  notice.  She  said  that  she  had  heard 
from  relatives  and  must  go  to  them.  Of  course  her  ab- 
sence is  temporary." 

Jacob  Roth  believed  this.  He  never  dreamed  that 
Rose  Letcher  could  be  long  away  from  her  work  and 
that  vicinity  which  she  adorned  and  which  so  loved 
her,  because  in  his  eyes  she  adorned  it  and  he  loved  her 
so  himself.  Rose  Letcher  was  his  heart's  blood.  He 
sulked  now  in  Mat  Durgan's  store,  waiting  there  one  par- 
ticular evening  to  see  Maggie,  who  was  absent  from  her 
house  when  he  went  to  call.  But  he  learned  from  the 
girl  Maggie  now  employed  that  she  would  go  to  Jane's 
before  her  return.  He  wanted  to  talk  with  her  of 
Rose. 

"Hasn't  she  written  to  anybody?"  asked  Mat,  who 
was  behind  his  counter  stacking  up  some  new  cylin- 
ders that  had  come  in  late  that  afternoon.  "It  seems 
strange  that  she  should  go  away  like  this  and  leave 
no  word  among  her  friends.  Relatives,  is  it?  Since 

236 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Maggie's  luck,  even  Jane  would  go  parading  off  in  search 
of  somebody  who  is  kin  to  her,  if  she  could  get  word  of 
such  people.  It  seems  like  we've  all  taken  to  dreaming 
about  money  since  Maggie's  got  up  to  Mrs.  Welloby." 

Jacob  Roth  shook  his  head. 

"She  ain't  written  to  me — I  know  that;  and  the  Pro- 
fessor ain't  knowing  anything  he's  willing  to  tell.  She 
up  and  quits  the  boarding-house  without  any  explana- 
tion, except  that  she's  coming  back  when  her  business 
is  finished.  We've  no  call  to  question  her;  but  it's  hard 
on  her  friends." 

"Forever"  Maggie  now  entered,  laughing,  in  high 
spirits  and  with  flushed  cheeks.  Josiah  Turtle  came  with 
her,  also  in  high  spirits,  his  hair  plastered  over  his  heavy 
forehead  with  care  and  precision,  his  vest  red,  and  his 
scarf-pin  gleaming.  He  carried  his  round  derby  hat  in 
in  his  hand,  following  her  respectfully. 

"We  have  been  to  the  matine'e,"  said  Maggie,  kissing 
Jane  on  both  cheeks  and  seating  herself  in  her  hat  and 
feathers,  while  Mr.  Turtle  stood  admiringly  by.  "Such 
a  fine  Irish  play,  with  Chauncey  Olcott  singing  sweet 
love-songs  like  a  bird.  What's  the  matter,  Mr.  Roth — 
with  your  gloomy  looks?  I'd  kiss  you  as  well  as  Jane 
if  I  dared.  We'd  supper  at  the  Cafe"  Boulevard." 

"It  was  dinner,"  said  Mr.  Turtle.  "We'll  have  sup- 
per about  midnight,  when  we  can  catch  Dan  Magee  off 
his  beat.  Maggie's  got  a  chafing-dish  up  at  the  house, 
and  Mrs.  Welloby  will  be  over." 

"And  you  are  to  come,  too,  Mat,  with  Jane,"  said 
Maggie.  "We'll  stop  until  we  can  take  you  with  us. 
Mr.  Roth's  coming  as  well." 

"Not  me,"  growled  Jacob.  "I  turn  out  at  six  in  the 
morning,  and  I'll  eat  no  supper  at  midnight.  Midnight 
sprees  are  for  them  that  get  up  when  they  please.  Have 
you  heard  from  Rose,  Maggie?" 

"I  have  not,"  said  the  girl.  "She  came  to  say  good- 
237 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

bye,  but  she  didn't  think  she'd  be  away  long  enough  to 
write.  She  was  going  to  see  her  people — otherwise  I 
should  have  thought  it  was  a  lecture  tour  somewhere  in 
Jersey.  Professor  Frank  would  know  about  that.  I 
didn't  trouble  myself." 

"I  would  have  known  it  if  it  was  to  lecture  she'd 
gone,"  said  Jacob  Roth.  "So  Dan's  coming  to  the 
chafing-dish  supper,  is  he,  Mr.  Turtle?  With  the  two 
of  you  there,  won't  somebody  be  in  the  way?" 

Maggie  looked  at  him  reproachfully,  but  Mr.  Turtle 
smiled  with  good-natured  wisdom.  His  face  was  an  evil 
face,  but  behind  it  was  a  store  of  worldly  experience. 

"  I'm  not  in  the  way  when  Dan's  about,  bad  luck  to  it. 
I  take  my  hat  off  to  him,  a  fine  fellow  any  time,  day  or 
night.  But  when  my  presence  adds  to  the  pleasure  of 
my  friends  I  go  hearty,  and  I  keep  myself  on  the  books 
by  not  intrudin'  where  I've  my  doubts  that  I'm  not 
wanted." 

"Good  for  you,  Mr.  Turtle,"  said  Jane,  with  an  in- 
dignant glance  at  Jacob  Roth. 

"I  guess  Maggie's  the  judge  of  that,  after  all,"  said 
Mat  Durgan,  philosophically;  "and  I'm  betting  that  Dan 
will  be  able  to  take  care  of  himself  in  any  company." 

"I  should  hate  to  think  otherwise,"  said  Maggie,  with 
a  red  face.  "Mr.  Magee  is  giving  himself  airs  of  late. 
But  the  children  of  the  neighborhood  haven't  suffered 
any  by  my  coming  into  things,  and  I'm  sure  all  my 
friends  continue  welcome." 

"True  for  you!"  cried  Mr.  Turtle,  enthusiastically, 
clapping  his  hands  and  smiling  at  Jane  Durgan,  who 
approved  both  his  manner  and  his  words.  "It  would 
be  an  envious  man  who  would  grudge  Miss  Rooney  her 
good-fortune,  and  a  bad-tempered  one  who'd  find  fault 
with  her.  And  Dan  Magee  is  neither." 

"And  am  I  both,  Mr.  Turtle?"  inquired  Jacob  Roth, 
with  an  ominous  frown. 

238 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"  I'll  not  say  so  in  the  presence  of  ladies,  Mr.  Roth." 

Jacob  Roth  got  up  slowly. 

"Come  outside  and  say  it,"  he  said. 

Josiah  Turtle  got  to  his  feet  instantly,  but  Maggie 
stopped  him,  confronting  Jacob  Roth  with  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears. 

"Are  these  your  feelings  for  me,  Mr.  Roth?"  she  ask- 
ed. "And  will  you  frighten  Jane  and  make  Mat  sorry 
to  have  you  come  about  our  pleasant  gatherings?" 

"I  guess  Mat  knows  me  pretty  well,  Maggie  Rooney," 
said  Jacob  Roth. 

"I  guess  so,"  said  Josiah  Turtle,  with  a  glance  at  Mat, 
noting  his  rising  temper.  "Nobody  '11  deny  it  here.  I 
would  be  glad  to  go  with  Mr.  Roth  anywhere,  Miss 
Rooney.  If  he  meant  anything,  I  didn't;  and  I'd  have 
said  so  outside." 

Mat  Durgan  looked  at  him  doubtfully.  This  wasn't 
the  attitude  of  "  the  Corners,"  and  Mr.  Turtle  didn't  look 
it.  But  his  words  were  effective  with  Jane. 

"You're  ashamed  of  yourself  now,  ain't  you,  Jake," 
she  said. 

"Mr.  Turtle's  got  me  on  language,"  replied  Jacob 
Roth.  "But  he  won't  have  me  long.  I  can  apologize 
as  quick  as  he  can." 

"It  goes  with  me,"  replied  Mr.  Turtle,  magnanimous- 
ly. "But  I'm  betting  that  something's  the  matter, 
which,  if  I'm  right,  I'm  sorry." 

"We're  all  sorry,  Mr.  Turtle,"  said  Maggie,  regarding 
Jacob  Roth.  "Rose  Letcher's  gone  away  sudden,  with- 
out a  sufficient  warning  to  her  friends." 

"Miss  Letcher!"  observed  Josiah  Turtle,  reflectively. 
"There's  a  woman,  now!"  he  continued,  with  expand- 
ing wisdom.  "Learning  and  dignity,  with  eyes  that 
sees  into  your  heart  but  overlooks  your  faults.  I'm 
going  to  know  her  better  when  she  comes  back,  and  re- 
spectful, too;  because  you  can't  know  her  no  other  way. 

239 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

That's  direct,  from  Mrs.  Welloby,  who's  a  judge.  The 
man  that  Miss  Letcher  honors  with  her  friendship  has 
got  a  right  to  brag  about  it,  and  I  ain't  blaming  any- 
body for  grieving  over  her  absence." 

"Good-night,"  said  Jacob  Roth.  "I'm  over-hasty 
sometimes,  Mr.  Turtle." 

He  turned  towards  the  door,  but  stopped  as  Blade 
Rooney  entered  hurriedly. 

"Hello!"  he  exclaimed.     "You  are  all  here!" 

"Yes.  What  is  it,  Blade?"  asked  Maggie,  noting  his 
excited  manner. 

"I've  come  for  you — and  I'm  glad  Mr.  Roth  is  here. 
Dan  Magee  spoke  of  him,  and  I  was  to  hunt  him  up  after 
I  found  you.  The  old  man's  sick." 

"Sick!"  exclaimed  Jacob  Roth,  in  a  tone  of  disgust. 

"He's  sick,"  answered  the  boy.  "He  was  drunk 
enough  to  begin  with,  but  he  went  out  of  a  saloon  on 
Eighth  Street  and  hurt  himself.  They'd  have  rung  for 
an  ambulance,  but  Dan  Magee  showed  up,  and  I  got  a 
hack.  We  took  him  to  the  house,  and  Dan  says  you're 
to  come  home." 

"Come  with  me,  Jane,"  cried  Maggie,  excitedly. 
"Oh,  dear!  I'm  afraid  it's  something  bad." 

"It's  that  all  right,"  said  the  boy,  frightened.  "I'm 
afraid  he's  done  for — and  Dan  Magee  couldn't  stay. 
He  had  to  go  back  to  his  beat.  Mrs.  Welloby  came  over, 
and  I  sent  the  girl  out  for  the  doctor.  Then  I  came 
here." 

"I'll  go,  ladies,  also,"  said  Mr.  Turtle,  with  much  ap- 
parent anxiety  and  a  direct  concern  for  "  Forever  "  Mag- 
gie. "I  may  be  of  service." 

"You  bring  Jane,"  said  Maggie,  hurrying  out.  "  Don't 
wait  a  minute." 

"It  might  be  well  for  you  to  fetch  Mrs.  Durgan,  Mr. 
Roth,"  said  Josiah  Turtle,  pausing  only  to  make  the 
suggestion.  "I'll  catch  Miss  Rooney." 

240 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

He  ran  after  her  at  once,  and  Jacob  Roth  waited  for 
Jane,  who  hastened  to  put  on  her  hat.  Mat  Durgan 
shared  in  the  excitement,  beginning  at  once  to  cover  up 
his  cylinders  and  close  his  store.  Scenes  like  this,  on 
the  East  Side,  justified  the  presence  of  everybody  likely 
to  be  interested.  A  death  or  a  funeral  was  in  the  nature 
of  a  public  event. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

JACOB  ROTH  SEES  A  RESEMBLANCE 

IT  was  extremely  probable  that  old  man  Beechy  would 
never  drink  again.  For  ten  days  he  lay  in  a  stupor  in 
the  new  house  next  to  the  Wellobys',  and  Maggie's  fort- 
une would  suffice  only  to  provide  for  his  remaining  days 
in  comfort.  He  was  better  now,  in  that  he  had  recov- 
ered a  portion  of  what  wits  hard  usage  and  dissipation 
had  left  him,  but  his  side  and  limbs  were  paralyzed,  and 
he  spoke  feebly  and  with  difficulty,  querulous  at  times, 
and  complaining  of  his  fate.  The  attending  physician 
did  not  say  how  much  of  life  remained  to  him.  He  had 
known  such  cases  to  linger  for  years;  but  the  subject 
of  this  one  would  never  leave  his  bed,  however  long  he 
might  cling  to  the  vital  spark.  The  Durgans  had  been 
constant  in  their  aid  and  the  Wellobys  kind.  Maggie 
wept  copiously  at  this  evidence  of  the  affection  of  her 
friends.  Josiah  Turtle  had  been  attentive  also,  coming 
daily  to  inquire  if  he  could  be  of  service,  bringing  flow- 
ers, great  bunches  of  red  and  odorous  plants,  with  which 
Jane  Durgan  decorated  the  sick  -  room.  Mat  Durgan 
smiled  at  this.  The  idea  of  flowers,  even  of  the  red  and 
coarsely  odorous  kind,  and  old  man  Beechy  was  so 
incongruous;  but  he  was  impressed  by  Josiah  Turtle's 
readiness,  and  uneasy  because  of  its  appeal  to  Maggie's 
impressionable  nature.  It  was  the  more  impressionable 
because,  as  yet,  it  was  bare.  Only  Dan  Magee  had  been 
distant,  his  coldness  growing  as  Maggie's  duties,  her  dis- 

242 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

tress,  with  her  emotion  under  the  solicitude  of  friends, 
made  her  the  more  indifferent  and  forgetful. 

And  Jacob  Roth  came,  too,  kindly  and  well-disposed, 
but  hourly  more  surly  and  despondent  under  the  con- 
tinued absence  of  Rose  Letcher.  He  had  ceased  to  com- 
plain now,  but  he  was  silent  and  thoughtful,  for  there 
was  news.  Professor  Frank  had  a  letter  from  London, 
of  which  he  merely  disclosed  its  purported  contents. 
Rose  Letcher  was  not  coming  back  to  be  again  a  resident 
of  the  East  Side.  She  had  severed  her  connection  with 
the  paper,  having  found  relatives  and  engaged  to  re- 
main with  them.  She  would  continue  her  work  in  a 
new  and  different  condition  of  life.  To  her  friends  she 
sent  her  remembrances,  promising  to  see  them  at  some 
future  time  upon  her  return  to  America.  To  Jacob 
Roth  she  begged  to  be  especially  commended,  but  there 
was  no  intimation  in  the  letter  that  she  had  communi- 
cated with  any  other. 

All  this  Professor  Frank  had  made  known  gravely,  in 
his  quiet  and  unimpassioned  manner.  He  esteemed 
Miss  Letcher  and  respected  her.  He  had  no  doubt  of 
her  principles,  and  believed  that  she  would  remain 
faithful  to  them.  Any  station  in  life,  to  her,  would  be 
a  field  of  usefulness. 

The  sentiment  of  the  East  Side  stirred  but  slightly. 
Rose  Letcher  was  not  a  person  of  warm  friendships. 
Mat  and  Jane  Durgan  were  regretful,  and  "Forever" 
Maggie  grieved;  the  less  for  the  present,  however,  because 
she  was  now  lost  in  her  new  cares.  But  to  Jacob  Roth 
the  news  went  home  and  stayed  there.  At  first  he  was 
stunned,  going  gloomily  and  morosely  about  his  work, 
speaking  to  no  one,  his  heavy  features  dull  and  con- 
tracted. Then  he  roused  himself  to  anger,  but  was  still 
without  words.  Of  late,  and  only  to  the  friend  whom 
he  loved  and  on  whom  he  relied,  had  he  ventured  to  re- 
veal himself. 

243 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"I  don't  understand  it,  Mat,"  he  said;  "but  I  shall 
before  I'm  through.  Rose  Letcher  was  above  her  sta- 
tion here  —  she  looked  and  talked  it.  And  when  she 
goes  from  friends  and  doesn't  come  back,  when  she 
leaves  her  work  and  her  principles  that  she  can  write 
for  and  speak  for,  it  means  something  vivid.  She's  out 
of  it,  and  I  fear  she's  out  of  it  for  me;  in  which  case  I'm 
all  in  forever.  If  it's  good  for  her,  God  bless  her!  If 
she's  struck  something  sorrowful — and  I  always  be- 
lieved, from  what  she  said,  that  some  one  had  brought 
her  sorrow — God  help  them  that's  back  of  it!  They'll 
need  'im." 

"Keep  your  nerve,  Jake,"  said  Mat  Durgan,  cheer- 
fully. "Rose  is  all  right.  You  go  to  gloom  as  a  black 
cat  hunts  a  dark  hole.  A  true  woman  goes  back  on 
nobody." 

"She's  a  true  woman,  and  she's  gone  back  to  some- 
body, I'm  afraid — and  that's  the  truth,"  replied  Jacob 
Roth.  " It's  the  way  of  her  kind  to  walk  towards  duty; 
and  she  may  have  learned  of  it  and  taken  it  up." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Mat;  "but  it 
ought  to  be  sufficient  that  she's  well.  What  difference 
does  it  make — the  country  she's  in  ?  She's  able  to  care 
for  herself  anywhere." 

"That's  true  enough,"  said  Jacob.  "The  trouble  is 
with  me,  who  miss  her." 

"If  you  believe  that  you  are  not  to  see  her  again,  why, 
the  world's  bigger  than  you  think  it  is.  If  Jane  was  at 
the  other  end  of  it,  and  living,  I'd  not  despair  of  getting 
there.  And  Rose  is  not  bound  to  you,  I'm  thinking." 

"You're  a  good  fellow,  Mat,"  said  Jacob  Roth.  "I 
guess  I  can  wait  awhile.  But  I'm  a  dog  for  faithfulness, 
and  if  she  don't  come  back  I'll  follow  her.  I  don't  see 
as  she'll  object  to  it." 

"The  woman  that  would  is  in  mischief,  which  she  is 
not,"  laughed  Mat. 

244 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"I  mean  to  know,"  said  Jacob  Roth.  "Whatever  is 
the  matter,  I  shall  know." 

And  doglike,  almost  sleuthlike,  he  searched,  impelled 
by  his  strong  will  and  deeper  passion.  He  lacked  neither 
knowledge  nor  method,  and  as  he  searched  his  mood 
grew  darker.  The  day  of  her  departure  was  fixed  in 
his  memory ;  he  went  to  the  newspaper  offices  and  looked 
over  the  back  files  for  the  names  of  the  vessels  then  sail- 
ing. He  went  to  the  steamer  office  and  scanned  the 
passenger  lists. 

Old  man  Beechy's  condition  remained  unchanged, 
but  Maggie  could  now  go  out  again,  for  she  had  accus- 
tomed her  household  to  its  new  conditions.  She  had 
gone  to  the  trust  company  for  counsel,  and  employed 
a  nurse.  Mrs.  Welloby  seconded  all  her  efforts  and 
furthered  all  her  plans.  Mr.  Turtle  had  become  in- 
valuable. The  sick-room  told  on  her,  and  she  now 
needed  air  and  exercise,  with  gayety  and  relaxation  to 
cheer  her  spirits.  He  was  ever  present  and  ready. 
And  he  talked  with  Dan  about  it  on  the  street,  with 
brusque  frankness  behind  which  was  his  duplicity  and 
cunning.  He  was  confidential,  because  he  desired  to  be 
believed,  and  therefore  his  voice  dropped  to  the  tones 
of  almost  a  confession. 

"The  girl  is  an  angel,  my  lad,"  he  said,  "and  it's 
proud  I  am  to  be  of  service  to  her,  for  I  don't  want  her 
to  mistake  me  about  the  boy.  He's  quick  and  ready, 
is  Blade,  and  I  need  him  in  my  business.  He's  likely 
to  come  into  money,  and  I  can  show  him  how  to  use  it 
and  increase  it.  He  don't  learn  any  too  easy  in  this 
way,  and  so  I  indulge  him  a  little;  but  I'm  in  his  com- 
pany and  keep  a  lookout  for  him.  When  he's  in  my 
company,  you  see,  he's  not  in  bad  company." 

"When  he's  in  yours  he's  not  in  worse,  as  I  can  see," 
answered  Dan,  who  was  not  so  sure  about  the  matter. 
But  it  was  a  relief  to  him  to  learn  that  Mr.  Turtle  had 

245 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

only  designs  upon  the  boy,  wherein  he  felt  that  he  could 
be  consoled.  His  confidence  in  Maggie  was  boundless, 
but  his  pride  was  hurt.  He  was  going  through  that 
period  of  jealous  discontent  which  comes  to  many  lovers, 
blaming  her,  and  then  blaming  himself  for  so  doing. 

"She's  too  good  for  any  man,"  he  said;  "and  now  she's 
money,  and  is  setting  out  to  be  a  lady  with  Mrs.  Welloby 
as  teacher,  she's  coming  to  know  it.  A  policeman  is  as 
good  as  a  plumber,  I  take  it,  if  he's  honest,  which  in  this 
town  ought  to  be  easy." 

"A  policeman  is  better  than  a  plumber,"  said  Josiah, 
enthusiastically,  determining  to  repeat  this  remark  to 
both  Maggie  and  Mrs.  Welloby.  "A  policeman'  is  one 
of  the  stand-bys  of  the  State.  Haven't  I  seen  them  do 
things  at  fires  that  would  make  a  soldier  in  the  front 
ranks  sick  with  envy?  And  there's  as  many  medals 
in  the  force  as  there  is  in  the  department.  The  girl  wor- 
ships you,  my  lad;  and  I'm  close  enough  to  see  it  and 
broad-minded  enough  to  say  so,  and  that  to  your  face." 

These  words  of  the  broad-minded  man  were  cheering 
to  Dan  Magee,  who  was  narrow-minded  in  Josiah  Turtle's 
view,  being  neither  subtle  nor  guileful.  He  was  daunt- 
less and  courageous,  but  he  was  simple  and  without  du- 
plicity. He  warmed  to  one  who  could  speak  them.  But 
like  a  man,  simple,  honest,  and  fearless,  he  lacked  words 
and  method.  He  was  grateful,  but  knew  not  how  to 
express  it.  Desiring  no  praise  for  honesty  himself,  he 
had  no  disposition  to  bestow  it. 

Josiah  Turtle  called  that  night  to  take  Maggie  to  the 
theatre,  and  as  they  left  the  house  they  met  Jacob  Roth 
on  the  steps. 

"I'm  glad  to  have  you  come,  Mr.  Roth,"  said  Maggie. 
"Uncle  is  restless  and  has  been  asking  for  you.  Mat 
Durgan  is  up-stairs  with  him,  and  if  you'll  promise  to 
stay  there  together  we'll  come  back  early." 

Jacob  gave  the  required  promise,  to  keep  Mat  if  he 
246 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

could,  and  passed  up  the  stairs  to  the  sick-room,  being 
at  home,  almost,  in  the  house.  He  found  Mat  Durgan 
there  alone.  Old  man  Beechy  welcomed  him  in  a  thin, 
querulous  voice.  He  was  flushed  and  feverish  and  be- 
trayed some  excitement. 

"I've  been  talking  to  Mat,"  he  said.  "Mat's  a  good 
fellow,  Jacob  Roth." 

"He's  that,"  replied  Jacob.  "I  hope  you  are  better, 
Mr.  Beechy." 

"I  want  to  tell  you  something,  Jake,"  said  the  old 
man.  "Me  mind's  come  back  to  me,  lying  here,  and 
I'm  thinking.  Thinking  is  good  for  a  sick  man.  I  want 
you  to  stand  by  me,  and  see  that  Maggie  stands  by  me, 
too.  You'll  not  let  them  desert  me,  now  that  I'm  sick, 
Jake  ?" 

"We'll  all  stand  by  you,  Mr.  Beechy.  Maggie  aided 
you  when  she  worked;  and  good-fortune  doesn't  change 
her." 

"I've  something  to  tell  you,  Jake,"  said  the  old  man 
again.  "Come  closer." 

"Tell  me  what  you  please,  Mr.  Beechy,"  said  Jacob 
Roth.  "How  is  it,  Mat?" 

Mat  Durgan  laid  down  the  book  he  had  been  reading 
and  came  to  the  bed.  Old  man  Beechy  turned  upon  his 
side,  and  lay,  breathing  heavily.  He  did  not  speak 
further,  and  as  they  stood,  looking  at  him  under  the 
gas  -  light,  Jacob  Roth's  countenance  was  suddenly 
clouded. 

"He's  sleeping,"  he  said.  "What  is  it  he  means  to 
tell?  I'm  likely  to  hear  anything  without  much  sur- 
prise. All  this  money  came  from  Marshall  Treemon, 
and  it  come  through  me.  It  was  not  from  a  pension,  or 
anything  like  it,  but  it  came  from  the  old  man's  boy 
who  died  out  West.  And  now  Marshall  Treemon  has 
gone  abroad,  and  on  the  same  steamer  went  Rose 
Letcher.  And  Rose  is  not  coming  back  to  us,  and  has 

247 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

found  friends.  Was  she  related  to  the  old  man's  son, 
I  wonder?" 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  Jake?"  asked  Mat. 

"I'm  afraid  to  tell  you,  Mat,"  replied  Jacob  R.oth,  his 
hand  across  his  brow.  "I'm  getting  to  have  thoughts 
that  I'm  ashamed  of;  and  I'm  losing  control  of  myself. 
I've  got  to  see  Rose  Letcher  in  order  to  regain  it.  A 
man's  entitled  to  save  himself,  ain't  he,  Mat,  at  any 
cost?" 

"When  it  comes  to  a  question  of  price,  I'm  no  judge; 
but  if  Rose  can  do  you  any  good,  I'm  thinking  she'll  be 
glad  to  see  you." 

"  I  wouldn't  mention  it  to  any  other,  Mat,"  said  Jacob 
Roth,  "but  I've  had  lots  of  time  to  think  of  what  she's 
said  to  me.  I  asked  her  to  marry  me  once.  Did  I  say 
once?  I  asked  her  many  times." 

"You  never  asked  her  oftener  than  Jane  guessed  it," 
said  Mat,  now  alive  with  interest,  "and,  though  she's  a 
woman,  she's  not  spoken  it  except  to  me.  But  the  fact 
hasn't  been  much  of  a  secret.  You've  been  a  sandwich- 
man  on  that  subject,  Jake,  and  all  "  the  Corners"  could 
read  it  on  both  sides  of  the  board." 

"I'm  not  ashamed  of  it  any,"  replied  Jacob  Roth. 
"But  she  wouldn't  have  it  that  way.  It's  not  my  feel- 
ings that  I'm  hiding;  it's  what  she  said  to  me  that  I 
wouldn't  mention  to  any  one  but  you.  She  said  that 
some  one  had  done  her  a  wrong — that  her  life  was  some- 
thing to  regret.  And  now  those  words  stay  with  me, 
and  I  think  of  them  nights.  It  made  no  difference  in 
her  presence  and  she  about,  but  it's  gloomy  to  think 
of  with  her  gone.  There's  dozens  of  ways  of  wronging 
a  woman;  and  the  last  one  and  the  worst  one  is  the 
last  one  and  the  worst  one  you  could  connect  with  Rose. 
If  I  thought  that  her  wronger  was  a  man,  and  he  on  top 
of  earth! — if  she'd  say  the  word,  I'd  put  him  under  it." 

"If  I  had  that  cheerful  disposition  that  you  carry 
248 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

about,  Jake,"  said  Mat,  with  lofty  sarcasm,  "I  would 
never  speak  except  to  make  jokes.  And  whenever  I 
mentioned  a  woman  somebody  would  die  laughing.  If 
Rose  knew  how  the  thought  of  you  filled  her  with  joy, 
she'd  marry  you  to  keep  you  happy.  Here's  a  cigar." 
And  Mat  proffered  one,  putting  its  fellow  in  his  mouth. 
"The  old  man  don't  mind  smoking,  I'm  thinking." 

"That's  well  enough  for  you,  Mat,  who  are  married 
and  fixed,"  replied  Jacob  Roth,  accepting  the  cigar  and 
lighting  it.  "I  hope  you'll  keep  that  merry  spirit  that 
I  have  not  and  never  hope  to  have.  But  this  woman  is 
in  my  heart,  and  when  she  goes  out  of  it  I'm  going,  too." 

"Then  I  hope  she'll  stay,  old  man,"  said  Mat,  kindly. 
"We  are  not  ready  to  spare  you  yet." 

They  smoked  in  silence,  and  then  old  man  Beechy 
turned  in  his  bed. 

"Is  that  you,  Mr.  Roth?" 

"It's  me,"  said  Jacob,  going  to  him. 

"'Twere  I,"  laughed  Mat,  standing  beside  him. 

"I've  been  dreaming  of  my  boy,"  said  the  old  man, 
his  eyes  rolling  in  his  head.  "Maggie  told  me.  To 
think  of  his  going  to  the  Charities  people,  and  then  grow- 
ing up  rich,  out  West,  to  leave  money  to  his  old  father! 
Don't  let  them  take  it  away  from  me,  Jake.  I'll  tell 
you  about  it,  sometime,  when  I'm  strong.  They  took 
him  West — the  Charities  people — his  mother  told  me." 

He  sank  back  on  the  pillow,  closing  his  eyes  with  ex- 
haustion, and  Jacob  Roth  bent  over  him.  His  thin 
hair,  gray  and  dry,  lay  in  tangled  threads  about  his  fore- 
head, his  nose  sharp,  his  features  sunken,  his  chin  promi- 
nent and  square.  It  was  a  face  that  might  have  been 
a  face  of  power  under  circumstances  to  call  forth  its 
strength;  but  now,  wan  and  shrunken  with  age  and  ill- 
ness, it  was  a  mask,  pallid  and  expressionless.  Looking 
into  the  set  countenance  before  him,  Jacob  Roth  was 
moved  to  mutter  an  oath.  Some  fancy  struck  him, 
17  249 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

riveting  his  attention,  and  a  glare  shone  in  his  sullen 
eyes. 

"Who  is  it  he  looks  like ?"  asked  Mat,  impressed.  "  It 
ain't  Maggie,  and  yet  I  swear,  now  that  he's  sober  and 
sick,  it  calls  somebody  to  mind.  It's  Blade,  I  guess." 

"No,"  muttered  Jacob  Roth,  huskily,  the  glare  in  his 
eyes  fiercer,  "it  ain't  Blade.  No,  it  ain't  Blade." 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Mat,  as  Jacob  Roth  sank 
back  into  his  chair,  his  face  now  fixed  and  stony. 

For  a  time  Jacob  Roth  did  not  answer.  He  sat  still 
and  staring,  his  brow  growing  darker.  When  he  spoke 
it  was  not  to  reply  to  the  question  of  his  companion. 

"I  would  go  West,"  he  said,  "if  I  could.  I  would 
get  out  of  this  community  and  shake  myself  free  of  the 
evil  mood  that's  on  me.  I  ain't  right,  Mat.  I'm  need- 
ing a  change,  and  I  want  to  be  myself  and  know  how 
to  do  when  Rose  comes  back.  When  she  comes  I'll 
see  her,  you  may  be  sure  of  that.  But  there's  a  strike 
pending  among  the  men.  The  unions  are  talking  it, 
and  they  rely  on  me.  I'm  meeting  these  devilish  capi- 
talists as  head  of  a  committee."  And  here  his  words 
came  through  set  teeth.  "I've  got  to  stand  to  my  duty, 
no  matter  how  I  feel." 

"I  am  not  counting  on  your  jovial  temper  to  help 
things,"  said  Mat.  "  If  a  strike  is  pending  and  they  rely 
on  you,  I  look  to  see  the  fellows  called  out.  I'm  glad 
I'm  an  independent  business  man,  beyond  the  unions 
and  wages.  There's  lots  of  us,  Jake,  in  this  country, 
and  I  think  we  are  the  fellows  that  will  save  it." 

"Yes,"  muttered  Jacob  Roth.  "  It's  a  mixed-up  mess, 
however  you  take  it ;  and  all  that  the  working-man  can 
hope  for  is  to  hold  his  own." 

"That's  all  he's  got  a  right  to,  his  own,  it  seems  to 
me,"  replied  Mat.  "When  he  gets  beyond  his  own  he 
becomes  a  boss,  and  then  his  interest  changes.  He's  on 
the  other  side,  and  the  difference  is  but  a  step.  That 

250 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

step  is  the  difference  between  anarchy  and  order.  I 
hope  your  temper  will  improve  before  your  committee 
acts." 

The  old  man  was  snoring  now,  having  lapsed  into 
slumber.  Jacob  Roth  looked  about  the  comfortable 
room. 

"Here's  a  change,  all  of  a  sudden,"  he  said,  "that 
came  about  outside  of  any  relationship  of  capital  and 
labor.  A  poor  girl  in  a  restaurant,  an  idle  boy,  and  a 
miserable,  drunken  old  man.  No  chance  for  them  under 
any  law  affecting  employer  and  employe"!  Yet  here's 
wealth,  as  easy  as  though  they  had  earned  it,  and  it 
seems  to  be  protected  and  cared  for.  Their  money  comes 
out  of  a  trust  company  and  a  system  that  I  don't  un- 
derstand; it  confuses  me  and  makes  me  unsettled  and 
afraid.  After  all,  how  can  we  poor  people,  or  we  work- 
ing people,  in  union  or  out  of  it,  fix  the  world?" 

"You  can't,"  said  Mat.  "That's  where  you  have 
been  mistaken  all  along.  You  can  fix  yourself,  and  if 
you  agree  with  your  fellow-workman  you  can  fix  each 
other;  but  there  your  power  stops,  for  the  other  fellow 
won't  let  you  fix  him.  He'll  find  money  in  a  coal-hole 
or  a  gold-hole,  and  the  law  that  protects  your  wages 
will  protect  his  find.  I  studied  that  out  some  time  ago 
and  quit." 

"I'll  quit,  too,  sometime,"  said  Jacob  Roth,  desper- 
ately and  with  sudden  passion,  glancing  at  the  figure 
on  the  bed.  "And  some  one  will  quit  with  me.  You 
are  right,  Mat;  my  disposition  is  going  to  give  me  some 
trouble." 

His  friend  regarded  him  curiously,  smoking  in  silence, 
and  Jacob  Roth  settled  back  in  his  chair,  his  eyes  gloom- 
ily upon  the  recumbent  figure  on  the  bed. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE    SPIRIT    OF   THE    FORCE 

THESE  were  anxious  days  for  the  National  Mutual 
Iron  Company.  While  the  course  of  a  true  merger 
should  run  smooth,  in  these  times  of  trusts  and  com- 
binations, when  the  country  was  excited,  and  the  power 
of  corporations  was  the  theme  of  every  political  dis- 
cussion throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land, 
the  legal  ingenuity  of  Mr.  Fox  was  taxed  to  the  utmost; 
and  Mr.  Littlefield,  whose  stay  in  America  had  been  pro- 
longed, had  many  earnest  consultations  with  Launcelot 
Duffield  and  his  associates.  The  interests  of  the  Mid- 
land Central  and  the  Interstate  Air  Line  were  well  un- 
derstood. The  plan  for  their  consolidation  had  been 
approved,  and  was  without  flaw.  The  great  Iron  Com- 
pany, that  was  to  purchase  a  majority  of  the  bonds  and 
stock  of  each,  was  just  the  organization  to  take  and 
maintain  the  position  they  had  assumed  for  it.  It  had 
smelters  and  mills  on  the  Great  Lakes,  in  inland  cities, 
and  along  the  lines  of  the  interested  railroads.  It  had 
vast  iron  holdings  in  the  West,  from  which  it  drew  its 
ores,  and  was  constructing  bridges  across  several  of  the 
great  rivers.  It  was  one  of  the  sources  of  the  country's 
prosperity,  and  employed  thousands  of  workmen,  who, 
in  turn,  contributed  to  the  support  of  hundreds  of  per- 
sons in  the  various  employments  of  industry.  The  men 
behind  the  Iron  Company  and  its  railroads  believed 
themselves  to  be  public  benefactors.  While  the  earn- 
ings of  their  enterprises  were  large,  they  believed  the 

252 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

margins  of  profits  to  be  reasonable,  and  a  very  small 
change  in  conditions  would  greatly  influence  those  mar- 
gins. A  substantial  expense  in  operation  would  reduce 
or  destroy  them,  and  with  their  destruction  would  go 
the  great  capital  invested.  The  workmen  had  made  de- 
mands which,  if  conceded,  in  the  opinion  of  both  Launce- 
lot  Durfield  and  Mr.  Littlefield,  would  tend  to  this  result, 
and  a  strike  was  threatened  if  these  demands  were  not 
met.  It  would  not  do  to  abandon  the  project  of  merger, 
which  would  greatly  increase  the  productiveness  of  all 
the  enterprises  and  contribute  to  the  well-being  of  all 
connected  with  them.  It  did  not  matter  if  the  result 
would  be  to  increase  the  wealth  of  the  promoters.  In 
their  view,  it  meant  a  benefit  to  all  the  interests  which 
relied  upon  the  Iron  Company  and  the  two  roads  for 
employment  and  profit.  The  whole  question  of  labor 
and  capital  lay  in  the  controversy,  and  capital,  upon  its 
lofty  plane  of  intelligence,  direction,  and  control,  believed 
its  interests  to  be  paramount.  It  was  not  a  question  of 
the  good  or  evil  relating  to  any  individual;  it  involved 
two  great  opposing  forces,  as  bodies,  and  in  turn  affected 
the  well-being  of  the  country.  It  was  a  question  of 
government. 

The  agents  of  the  corporation  were  active.  Investiga- 
tions had  disclosed  that  the  various  organizations  of  the 
iron -workers  had  combined  and  were  agreed  to  act  in 
unison.  Down  on  the  East  Side,  in  New  York,  a  thin, 
pale  man,  who  conducted  a  labor  newspaper,  was  send- 
ing circulars  and  leaflets  to  the  disaffected,  and  a  burly, 
loud-voiced,  dominant  man,  at  the  head  of  Union  No.  10, 
was  urging  strike  upon  his  fellows.  The  seat  of  discord 
was  here,  and  here  it  must  be  met  and  influenced.  It 
was  not  a  question  of  force  or  bribery,  but  of  diplomacy ; 
but  it  was  a  question  of  victory  in  some  form,  for  the 
public  good,  along  the  lines  of  least  resistance.  The 
Jesuits  had  a  rule  for  dealing  with  the  wilfully  ignorant. 

253 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Men  must  be  influenced  as  they  were,  not  as  they  should 
be.  Launcelot  Duffield  and  Mr.  Littlefield  were  agreed. 
The  company  could  conquer  conditions;  it  could  not 
seek  to  reform  men.  The  only  moral  question  in  it  was 
lost  in  the  ignorance  and  prejudice  of  a  few  passionate 
individuals  who  could  blindly  exercise  power  without 
regard  to  consequences.  The  burden,  then,  lay  upon  the 
strongest  and  those  most  competent  to  know  and  to  do. 
This  was  the  view  of  both  Mr.  Littlefield  and  Launcelot 
Dufneld ;  it  was  the  view  of  Mr.  Fox. 

"We  are  not  responsible  for  conditions  that  grow  out 
of  a  new  governmental  experiment,"  he  said.  "We  are 
a  small  part  of  a  government  that  rules  by  majorities, 
and  threatens  order  by  permitting  an  immigration  that 
makes  the  majorities  bodies  of  passion  and  unreason. 
Time  and  education  will  correct  all  this,  but  that  happy 
period  has  not  arrived.  We  must  deal  with  the  period 
that  is." 

The  peril  was  colossal,  and  involved  thousands  of 
workmen  over  a  wide  area  of  country.  Governors  of 
various  States  and  the  President  had  been  seen  and 
urged  to  intervene  and  aid  in  placating  the  disaffected 
bodies.  A  board  of  arbitration  had  been  talked  of; 
but  the  details  of  the  merger  had  not  been  made  public. 
It  was  to  prevent  this,  and  save  the  interests  from  the 
popular  prejudice,  that  the  strike  must  be  prevented. 
The  President,  after  consultation  with  his  cabinet,  had 
announced  his  helplessness.  Then  various  members  of 
Congress  in  the  threatened  districts  were  appealed  to, 
and  the  agents  of  the  company  were  instructed  to  go  to 
the  root  of  the  trouble  on  the  East  Side,  conciliate  by 
some  means  the  leaders,  and  break  up  the  bureau  of 
literature  that  was  making  the  disorder. 

Following  a  conference  in  his  office  in  Wall  Street, 
Launcelot  Duffield  had  taken  his  car  and  gone  north- 
ward for  an  afternoon  ride  with  Lucia  Harrington.  The 

254 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

day  was  fine,  and  she  had  answered  a  telephone  call, 
saying  that  she  would  be  ready  for  his  coming.  His 
chauffeur  had  whirled  the  vehicle  through  the  endless 
procession  of  cabs  and  carriages  that  thronged  lower 
Fifth  Avenue,  and,  getting  out  of  the  press  at  Fifty- 
ninth  Street,  bowled  merrily  up  the  smooth  drive  among 
the  Seventies.  The  footpath  between  the  Park  wall  and 
the  trees  was  crowded  with  strollers,  for  the  sun  was 
bright  and  the  day  warm.  In  front  of  Lucia's  house 
the  automobile  was  cramped  against  the  curb,  and 
Launcelot  Duffield  alighted  as  Lucia  appeared  at  the 
entrance,  robed  for  her  ride.  She  came  down  the  steps 
with  a  smile,  and,  after  a  word  of  greeting,  he  assisted 
her  to  a  seat  in  the  car,  and  sprang  in  beside  her.  The 
chauffeur  applied  the  power,  turning  the  iron  nose  out- 
ward, and  as  the  engine  thundered  under  the  pressure 
of  the  lever  the  great  vehicle  swung  slowly  into  the 
street,  halting  and  puffing,  to  admit  the  passage  of  a 
stage  that  careened  by  on  the  other  side.  It  was  then 
that  a  smaller  automobile  bearing  two  men  and  a  driver 
whizzed  noisily  up  from  the  south.  The  man  at  the 
wheel  guided  the  car  into  the  space  in  front  of  the  larger 
motor,  but  threw  the  lever  and  applied  the  brake  quick- 
ly as  a  cry  of  warning  from  the  people  on  the  walk  di- 
rected his  attention  to  a  carriage,  dragged  by  two  horses, 
coming  wildly  from  the  north.  The  two  chauffeurs,  see- 
ing an  impending  collision,  made  a  frantic  effort  to  avoid 
it;  but  as  they  reversed  their  engines  the  two  vehicles, 
front  on,  locked  their  wheels,  and,  pressing  one  against 
the  other,  remained  fixed  and  immovable.  Lucia  uttered 
a  cry  of  fear,  and  with  Launcelot  rose  to  her  feet,  the 
occupants  of  the  other  car  springing  up  also.  To  leap 
to  the  north  was  to  face  the  coming  peril,  and  cast  them- 
selves in  front  of  the  frightened  horses.  The  presence 
of  the  second  car  prevented  escape  on  the  other  side. 
Launcelot  saw  the  danger,  but  was  powerless  to  avert  it. 

255 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

That  afternoon  Dan  Magee  had  left  his  apartments 
and  gone  to  the  lodgings  of  Jacob  Roth.  Holidays  were 
few  for  either  of  the  men,  but  by  a  coincidence  they  were 
each  to  have  an  idle  half  day.  Jacob  Roth  had  quit 
work  for  the  week,  to  give  attention  to  the  affairs  of 
the  union ;  but  Dan  Magee  had  been  relieved  from  duty 
on  his  beat  to  attend  as  a  witness  at  the  trial  of  a  man 
whom  he  had  arrested,  and  the  case  had  been  adjourned. 
Meeting  the  night  before  at  Mat  Durgan's,  they  had  ar- 
ranged to  go  the  next  day  to  see  a  friend  in  Ninety- 
sixth  Street,  and,  the  visit  paid,  they  left  together  for  a 
walk  along  Fifth  Avenue,  by  the  Park. 

All  the  places  of  the  city  were  familiar  to  Dan  Magee. 
Since  his  early  boyhood,  when  he  had  come  from  Ireland 
with  his  parents  and  arrived  in  New  York  raw  and  rag- 
ged, selling  papers,  running  errands,  and  later  as  a  school- 
boy to  extract  a  scant  knowledge  by  a  brief  attendance  at 
an  East  Side  public  institution,  he  had  roamed  the  island 
from  point  to  point.  He  had  fished  from  the  Battery 
wall  and  played  ball  on  the  vacants  in  Harlem.  Among 
those  of  his  class,  his  acquaintance  extended  all  over 
the  Borough  of  Manhattan.  Coming  now  down  the 
walk  under  the  trees,  greeting  a  friend  here  and  hailing 
an  occasional  mounted  comrade  of  the  force,  he  saun- 
tered along  with  Jacob  Roth,  his  spirits  freshened  under 
the  moment  of  relaxation  and  cheered  by  the  beauty  of 
the  day.  His  conversation  with  Jacob  had  been  for  a 
time  of  Maggie,  for  Maggie  was  always  in  his  mind,  but 
now  it  had  shifted  to  the  impending  strike.  This  ground 
was  Jacob's,  and  it  was  a  topic  that  absorbed  him.  He 
had  spoken  of  Rose,  too,  but  chiefly  he  discoursed  of 
•the  union,  the  rights  of  labor,  and  the  power  of  his  ad- 
versaries. He  was  morose,  as  usual,  but  Dan  Magee 
found  him  an  interesting  companion.  Below  Eightieth 
Street  an  officer  saluted  them,  and  Dan  paused  for  a 
friendly  word.  He  was  not  in  uniform,  but  his  ac- 

256 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

quaintances  knew  him,  for  all  of  that.  His  erect  car- 
riage and  fine  countenance  attracted  attention  always. 
Strolling  leisurely  down  the  street,  a  tumult  halted  them. 

"It's  a  runaway,"  said  Jacob  Roth,  leaving  the  walk 
and  passing  beyond  the  line  of  trees  to  the  curb.  "See 
them  come,  will  you!  Look,  old  man!  It's  a  carriage 
with  two  horses,  and  the  driver  gone — which  means  that 
they'll  kill  something  in  the  crowd  below,  I  fear." 

Dan  Magee  looked;  he  was  at  his  side,  and  then  be- 
yond the  gutter,  and  upon  the  pavement. 

"They'll  never  get  here,"  he  muttered,  the  spirit  of 
the  police  in  his  eyes.  "There  goes  Tom  Osborn — he'll 
stop  them  at  the  corner." 

A  mounted  officer  had  ridden  rapidly  beside  the  run- 
ning team,  erect  in  his  saddle,  firm  of  seat,  keen  of  eye, 
a  picture  of  spirited  resolve.  His  task  was  no  child's 
play.  The  runaways  plunged  down  the  smooth  street 
at  a  speed  that  brought  the  vehicle  they  dragged  con- 
tinually upon  two  wheels.  Bracing  himself  for  the  shock, 
the  horseman  bent  quickly  over  the  neck  of  his  mount. 

"He's  missed  them!"  cried  Jacob,  again  beside  Dan 
Magee.  "Your  other  friend  is  out  with  his  club — but 
see!  he  goes  down,  too!" 

Dan  Magee  breathed  heavily,  his  eyes  still  holding 
the  gleam  of  excitement.  The  mounted  policeman  had 
ridden  at  the  bridle,  and,  leaning  forward,  had  clutched 
the  flying  steeds.  The  movement  had  brought  the  three 
horses  together ;  they  met  with  an  impact  that  was  heard 
the  length  of  the  block;  in  an  instant  the  rider  had 
rolled  from  the  saddle  and  was  thrown  along  the  pave- 
ment, the  dust  flying  from  under  his  body  as  he  struck 
the  ground;  his  ineffective  clutch,  torn  from  the  reins, 
had  plucked  the  flying  horses  nearer  to  the  curb.  A 
foot  policeman,  beating  with  his  club  at  their  faces,  was 
dashed  aside.  They  came  on  now,  unimpeded,  while 
shouts  echoed  along  the  roadway. 

257 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Dan  Magee  ran  farther  into  the  street. 

"Look  out,  lad!"  called  Jacob  Roth,  shrinking  back. 
It  was  not  his  business.  "There's  a  bunch  of  autos  be- 
low you,  and  they'll  run  you  into  them.  Let  the  im- 
pact stop  them." 

"Hooray!"  shouted  the  crowd  as  Dan's  dauntless  fig- 
ure loomed  up  in  the  path  of  the  speeding  fugitives. 

Dan  Magee  saw  the  locked  automobiles  to  which 
Jacob  Roth  had  striven  to  direct  his  attention.  A 
glance  showed  him  a  woman  and  some  men.  The 
vehicles  were  occupied  and  in  danger.  He  turned  and 
confronted  the  coming  carriage. 

"Hooray!"  shrieked  the  crowd  again. 

Then  they  were  upon  him. 

Dashing  his  hat  into  their  eyes,  he  sprang  at  the  bits, 
his  arm  about  the  neck  of  the  nearest  steed,  his  body 
thrown  to  one  side,  leaping  to  cast  his  leg  across  the 
back,  as  a  circus  rider  mounts  his  horse  in  the  arena. 
He  was  young,  athletic,  and  sought  the  peril  in  the  line 
of  his  duty  with  the  eagerness  and  fervor  of  his  pro- 
fessional pride.  The  runaways,  feeling  his  weight,  stag- 
gered under  it.  They  sprawled  outward,  and  then  came 
heavily  together.  The  carriage  behind  plunged  over 
them,  and  the  mass  struck  the  waiting  vehicles  with  a 
shock  that  drove  the  pole  with  splintering  force  through 
the  tonneau  of  the  smaller  automobile. 

Dan  Magee  was  instantly  on  his  feet,  his  hands  at  the 
bits  from  which  the  foam  was  flying.  Jacob  Roth  ran 
to  him,  his  strong  muscles  now  lending  their  aid.  The 
two  fallen  policemen,  with  the  cheering  crowd,  flocked 
about,  and  the  horses,  under  the  weight  of  many  re- 
straining hands,  stood  still  and  trembling. 

Launcelot  Dufneld  helped  Lucia  from  the  car,  and, 
leaving  her  unhurt  upon  the  sidewalk,  hastened  to  the 
side  of  their  rescuer. 

"It's  all  right,"  said  Dan  Magee,  taking  his  extended 
258 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

hand,  stepping  back,  flushed  and  breathless.  "But, 
sir,  the  pole  knocked  a  fellow  out  on  the  other  side. 
See  to  him." 

They  hurried  behind  the  wreck,  where  one  of  the 
occupants  of  the  smaller  auto  now  supported  the  limp 
form  of  his  companion.  With  one  or  two  helpers  the 
man  now  strove  to  drag  his  friend  to  the  sidewalk. 

"Get  a  doctor!"  he  called.     "Ring  up  an  ambulance!" 

"Why,  it's  Turtle!"  exclaimed  Jacob  Roth. 

"By — "  cried  Dan,  checking  the  startled  oath  that 
rose  to  his  lips,  halting,  and  then  running  forward.  "It's 
Blade  Rooney!" 

"He's  dead,  all  right,"  said  a  man  at  the  curb.  "The 
pole  hit  him  fairly  in  the  chest  and  knocked  him  ten 
feet  out.  You  pulled  them  down  well,  my  friend. 
They  were  pointed  at  the  big  auto,  and  might  have 
killed  that  lady  yonder." 

Josiah  Turtle  swung  his  charge  to  the  pavement  and 
lifted  his  arm,  wild  with  excitement. 

"You  saw  it!"  he  cried  to  the  crowd  about.  "They 
were  pulled  on  to  us.  They  wouldn't  have  hit  us  ex- 
cept for  him.  We  saw  them  coming  and  could  have 
jumped." 

"Why  didn't  you?"  said  the  man. 

"They'd  have  hit  the  big  auto,  and  that  would  have 
stood  the  blow.  The  tall  fellow  did  it.  Damn  him!" 

Dan  Magee  said  nothing. 

"Come,  my  man,"  said  Launcelot  Duffield,  quietly. 
"He  nearly  stopped  them,  or  they  would  have  killed 
us  all.  It  was  a  brave  act." 

"It  was  that,"  said  the  second  policeman.  "It's 
Dan  Magee,  a  member  of  the  force." 

"I  know  him!"  shouted  Josiah  Turtle.  "And  I'll  re- 
port him,  too!" 

"Poor  lad,"  muttered  Dan,  bending  over  the  lifeless 
form. 

259 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

The  man  who  had  spoken  had  said  truly.  The  car- 
riage pole  had  dashed  the  boy  instantly  to  death,  and 
he  lay  motionless,  the  eyes  in  his  youthful  face  closed 
tightly,  as  though  he  had  seen  his  doom  and  refused  to 
look  upon  it. 

"I've  called  for  an  ambulance,"  said  the  mounted 
policeman,  his  face  bloody  and  his  form  covered  with 
dust.  "You  brought  them  down  fine,  Dan." 

Dan  Magee  made  no  reply.  He  had  stepped  back 
from  the  body  of  the  boy,  about  which  the  crowd  pressed 
thickly.  Over  it  now  stood  the  two  dishevelled  police- 
men, sober,  but  alert  in  duty.  Jacob  Roth  kept  at  Dan's 
side,  while  Josiah  Turtle,  back  in  the  assembled  throng, 
muttered  to  himself,  trembling  and  weak  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  scene  through  which  he  had  passed. 

Lucia  Harrington  had  retreated  up  the  steps  and  into 
the  house,  but  Launcelot  Duffield  remained  near  the 
man  who  had  stood  between  them  and  death. 

"What  is  your  name  and  address,  my  friend?"  he 
asked. 

Dan  Magee  shook  his  head. 

"It  doesn't  matter,"  he  answered. 

"No,  sir,"  said  Launcelot  Duffield,  sharply.  "You 
are  not  to  do  that.  Friends  are  not  so  common  in  this 
world  that  you  can  afford  to  reject  their  gratitude." 

"It's  Daniel  Magee,  sir,"  said  Jacob  Roth.  "You 
can  learn  of  him  in  Mulberry  Street." 

"Headquarters,"  said  Launcelot  Duffield,  as  he  wrote 
down  the  name. 

Jacob  Roth  glowered  at  him. 

"Couldn't  you  have  taken  the  poor  lad  into  the  house 
where  your  lady  has  gone  ?  He  might  have  spoiled  the 
carpets,  but  it's  better  than  leaving  him  here  in  the 
streets.  A  common  man  would  have  thought  of  it." 

Launcelot  Duffield  straightened  up,  their  eyes  meet- 
ing. 

260 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"The  house  is  not  mine,  my  friend,  and  the  poor  boy 
is  beyond  aid.  But  if  you  know  him — this  house,  or  any 
other." 

"We  know  him,"  said  Jacob  Roth,  "and  the  man  that 
saved  you  knows  him  well.  It's  pretty  near  his  own 
blood  that  he  gave  for  you,  and  if  you'll  look  in  his  face 
you'll  understand.  He's  not  scared,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  he  stands  so  still  and  says  nothing." 

"Don't,  Jake,"  said  Dan  Magee,  turning  away. 

Launcelot  Duffield  pushed  into  the  crowd. 

"Here,  men!"  he  cried.  "Let's  take  this  boy  into 
the  house." 

It  was  a  young  face,  but  not  a  prepossessing  boy,  that 
lay  crumpled  up  in  blood  and  disorder.  His  loud  attire, 
the  crimson  scarf  at  his  throat,  red  as  the  red  upon  the 
shirt  that  stained  it,  proclaimed  him.  His  companion, 
about  whom  the  fumes  of  drink  hung  strongly,  making 
his  trembling  and  disordered  appearance  more  wretched 
and  degraded,  again  came  to  the  stricken  form. 

"The  ambulance,"  said  Dan  Magee,  quietly,  as  the 
clang  of  the  gong  was  heard.  "No  need  to  handle  the 
poor  lad  overmuch.  Let  him  go  to  the  hospital,  for 
any  spark  of  life  that  may  be  left,  and  then  we'll  see 
him  to  his  home.  Come,  Jake;  let's  look  to  it  that 
Father  O'Grady  gets  to  Maggie  first.  He'd  best  break 
the  news." 

Additional  policemen  now  arrived  on  the  scene,  and 
the  ambulance  was  backed  to  the  curb. 

"I'll  not  go,"  said  Dan,  "nor  need  Jake,  either,"  as 
the  body  was  lifted  from  the  pavement  and  a  comrade 
motioned  them  in.  "Let  Turtle  ride  to  the  hospital. 
He  can  then  come  to  the  lad's  home  and  report.  He 
knows  it." 

He  moved  down  the  walk,  with  Jacob  Roth  beside 
him.  A  few  steps  along  the  street  and  Launcelot  Duf- 
field halted  him. 

261 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said.  "Do  I  understand  that  you 
are  related  to  this  unfortunate  young  man?" 

"I  know  his  family,  sir.  I  know  them  well.  That's 
all." 

"And  your  friend  here,"  and  he  glanced  at  Jacob 
Roth;  "he  gave  you  some  substantial  help,  for  which 
I  am  grateful,  also.  Will  you  go  with  me  to  the  lady, 
Miss  Harrington,  that  she  may  thank  you?  She  has 
sent  a  servant  to  request  it." 

Dan  turned  about  in  silence,  but  Jacob  Roth  stood 
still. 

"I'll  not  go,"  he  said.  "I  did  nothing,  and  one  is 
enough  for  thanks." 

"Very  good,  Mr.  Roth,"  said  Launcelot  Duffield, 
glancing  at  him.  "You  may  wait  here  if  you  like." 

"So,  sir,"  said  Jacob,  a  grim  smile  creeping  to  his 
features,  "you  know  me,  Mr.  Duffield?" 

"We  have  heard  of  each  other,  evidently,"  said 
Launcelot  Duffield,  answering  his  smile.  "Come,  Mr. 
Magee." 

The  ambulance  had  borne  off  its  burden,  and  the 
crowd  scattered  about  its  way.  Jacob  Roth,  the  smile 
still  upon  his  stern  features,  leaned  against  the  stone  post 
of  the  steps,  while  Dan  Magee  followed  his  conductor 
into  the  house,  at  the  window  of  which  the  white  face 
of  Lucia  appeared  between  the  curtains. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

.       THE   VOICE    OF   THE   TURTLE 

"THE  Corners  "  of  the  East  Side  had  its  additional  day 
of  excitement.  The  friends  gathered  to  eat  of  the  fu- 
neral baked  meats,  and,  in  their  vernacular,  saw  Blade 
Rooney  "good  and  buried."  Dan  Magee's  heroism  was 
a  popular  theme,  but  its  object  bore  his  honors  sadly. 
He  grieved  with  "  Forever"  Maggie,  but  not  in  her  com- 
pany. For  some  strange  reason  the  girl  held  aloof  from 
him.  She  was  comforted  by  Mrs.  Welloby  and  Jane 
Durgan.  Mat  Durgan  and  Jacob  Roth  were  both  loyal 
to  the  policeman.  Professor  Frank  was  present,  and  his 
lips  dropped  philosophy;  but,  discussing  one  phase  of 
the  Beechy-Rooney  fortune  with  Jacob  Roth,  he  con- 
fessed that  he  was  puzzled.  So  far,  the  good  luck  which 
had  come  of  it  had  made  one  a  paralytic  and  induced 
another  to  his  grave. 

"I'd  rather  be  paralyzed  by  money  than  whiskey," 
observed  Mat  Durgan,  who  was  with  them. 

"So  would  I,  if  money  is  an  inducing  cause,"  said  the 
Professor,  with  a  smile.  "It  was  probably  not  the 
change  which  came  to  them  that  afflicted  the  old  man; 
but  it  certainly  placed  the  boy  in  the  path  of  this  acci- 
dent. Naturally,  we  remark  upon  it." 

"It's  mixed  poor  Dan  up,  too,"  said  Jacob  Roth.  "I 
wish  the  pole  had  hit  the  other  fellow  in  the  car." 

They  knew  what  he  meant,  but  they  said  nothing. 
"The  Corners"  had  begun  to  understand  that  something 
was  the  matter  between  Dan  and  Maggie. 

263 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Formerly  Dan  saw  her  every  day  or  evening,  but  since 
her  removal  to  her  new  dwelling  they  had  gradually 
fallen  apart.  He  went  occasionally  to  the  new  house, 
and  he  saw  her  frequently  upon  the  street ;  but  she  did 
not  seek  him  as  she  used  to,  nor  reproach  him  with  her 
old  coquetry  when  he  remained  away.  The  time  was 
when  night  and  morning  he  had  a  wave  of  her  hand, 
when  her  face  smiled  gleefully  at  him  from  under  its  hat. 
He  would  watch  for  her  on  his  beat  as  she  went  to  her 
daily  work,  and  it  was  seldom  that  she  did  not  find  him 
waiting  her  return.  Occasionally,  now,  he  saw  her  at 
Jane  Durgan's,  for  there  was  no  open  rupture;  but  for 
several  days  following  Blade's  funeral  he  had  kept  away 
from  her.  Her  grief  for  the  loss  of  her  brother  had  been 
wild  and  passionate,  and  while  Dan's  heart  throbbed 
with  pity  for  her,  he  got  no  word  calling  him  to  her  side. 
He  was  hurt  at  this,  and  the  feeling  grew  as  the  days 
went  by.  She  had  friends  enough  now,  as  always,  but 
Dan  was  filled  with  sorrow  to  think  that  the  sympathy 
of  his  mother  was  not  sought,  and  that  Mrs.  Welloby 
and  Mrs.  Pedrick  were  her  chief  comforters.  At  length, 
on  an  afternoon,  she  passed  him  on  Avenue  A,  going  by 
without  a  word.  She  saw  him,  but  moved  on  with  a 
quickened  step,  averting  her  glance  from  his  astonished 
gaze  and  shielding  her  face  with  her  mourning  veil.  He 
looked  after  her,  alarmed  and  thoughtful,  and  that  night 
he  went  to  her  home.  On  the  steps  he  met  Mrs.  Welloby 
departing.  She  paused  for  a  word,  and,  answering  his 
inquiry,  said  that  Maggie  was  within.  The  plumber's  lady 
had  no  cause  of  grievance,  upon  her  part,  if  "  Forever" 
Maggie  was  not  for  an  available  relative ;  but  her  counte- 
nance bore  a  peculiar  expression  as  she  passed  down 
the  steps  and  up  her  own  to  her  home.  Dan  noticed  it, 
and  stood  half  irresolute.  Then  he  rang  the  bell,  and 
upon  the  appearance  of  the  hired  girl  followed  her  into 
the  hall.  She  did  not  know  that  Maggie  was  engaged, 

264 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

and  Mrs.  Welloby  had  not  yet  induced  a  proper  formality 
into  the  house.  Dan  pushed  open  the  door  of  the  room 
behind  the  front  parlor,  and  here  he  paused  again,  for 
Maggie  was  there  to  greet  him.  She  rose  at  his  entrance, 
as  did  Mr.  Turtle,  who  was  with  her.  She  was  flushed 
and  excited,  and  her  cheeks  showed  traces  of  tears.  Dan 
could  see,  from  his  appearance,  that  her  visitor  was  per- 
turbed also. 

Dan  Magee  almost  bowed.     His  politeness  was  icy. 

"I  beg  pardon.     I  am  intruding,"  he  said. 

Maggie  looked  at  him  for  an  instant,  and  then  at  her 
companion. 

"You  are  not,"  she  replied,  "and  you  have  no  right 
to  say  so,  Mr.  Magee."  She  was  upon  her  dignity,  too, 
for  he  never  remembered  her  to  call  him  so  before.  "I 
was  wishing  for  you,  was  I  not,  Mr.  Turtle,  this  minute  ?" 

"She  said  it,"  answered  Josiah  Turtle,  sitting  down, 
as  Maggie  motioned  Dan  to  a  seat. 

"I  said  it,"  observed  Maggie,  the  flush  growing  bright- 
er upon  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  sparkling  through 
tears  that  now  came  to  them — "I  said  it  because  I've 
heard  something — something  I  wouldn't  have  believed 
if  Father  O'Grady  had  told  me,  and  the  less  I  believed 
when  Mr.  Turtle,  here,  spoke  it  up." 

"What  was  it?"  asked  Dan,  with  a  glance  at  the  man. 
Josiah  Turtle  sat  with  drawn  brows  and  an  uneasy  coun- 
tenance, before  him.  "Something  about  me,  was  it?" 

"It  was  that,"  said  Josiah,  speaking  for  the  girl,  and 
rousing  himself  angrily  to  defiance.  "You  and  I  are 
not  square  since  you  steered  the  team  into  us  and  knock- 
ed poor  Blade  to  his  death.  This  girl's  his  sister,  and 
I'm  fond  enough  of  her,  as  fondness  goes  between  friend 
and  friend.  But  it  was  the  lad  I  liked — a  fine,  comely 
boy—" 

Here  Mr.  Turtle  paused.  He  glanced  at  Maggie,  who 
dissolved  again  into  tears,  his  look  returning  to  Dan 
is  265 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Magee  with  a  fierce  and  deeply  simulated  emotion.  He 
felt  that  he  was  on  good  ground,  and  he  did  not  fear  a 
rupture,  possessing  the  advantage  which  he  believed  to 
be  his. 

"I  couldn't  believe  it,  Dan,"  said  Maggie,  through  her 
sobs.  "I  told  Mr.  Turtle  it  was  a  base  falsehood.  Not 
one  man  could  say  it  and  be  my  friend.  So  I  went  to 
Mr.  Osborn,  who  was  on  the  ground.  He  had  heard  what 
was  spoken  in  the  crowd." 

"This  man  spoke  it,"  said  Dan,  quietly. 

"Don't  think  it,"  she  replied,  bitterly.  "I  went  to 
the  lady,  Miss  Harrington,  whose  life  you  saved,  and 
when  she  saw  my  distress  she  sent  for  Mr.  Duffield.  He 
was  surprised  and  angry,  but  I  saw  that  he  was  shielding 
you.  They  were  soft  spoken  and  good  to  me,  but  I 
understand.  You  pulled  the  horses  away  from  the  big 
automobile  and  against  the  little  one,  as  Mr.  Turtle  said. 
What  would  Rose  Letcher  say — what  would  Professor 
Frank  say — what  would  Jacob  Roth  say?  You  took 
your  choice  between  the  rich  people  and  a  poor  boy, 
and  me  brother  was  killed." 

Dan  Magee  rose  to  his  feet  pale  but  calm. 

"Did  Jacob  Roth  say  anything?" 

"He  did  not.     I  didn't  ask  him." 

"Hadn't  you  better?" 

"What's  the  use — since  I've  got  the  truth?" 

Dan's  face  grew  paler.  He  looked  at  the  man  who 
leered  at  him  in  triumph,  and  stood  in  silence,  pondering 
as  to  what  he  should  do. 

"I'm  not  hearing  you  deny  anything,"  said  Maggie, 
with  a  fresh  burst  of  tears. 

"I  am  doubtful  if  you  will,"  replied  Dan,  slowly. 
"And  I'm  laying  nothing  against  this  fellow  here.  He 
was  there,  and  if  he  had  not  been  drinking,  and  had 
not  led  the  boy  out  of  his  proper  way — " 

"Stop!"  interrupted  Josiah  Turtle,  angrily,  rising  to 
266 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

his  feet.  "You'll  be  telling  Miss  Rooney  next  that  the 
lad  was  full  of  liquor — 

"I  think  it,"  said  Dan,  dispassionately,  breaking  in 
upon  him  in  his  turn. 

"Sure!"  went  on  Josiah,  with  malignant  glee.  "So 
that  Miss  Rooney  may  think  that  he  went  to  his  death 
in  a  bad  way,  and  without  a  priest,  too.  Well,  for  her 
comfort,  I'm  here  to  deny  that,  Mr.  Magee.  I  was  there, 
as  you  say." 

"May  the  saints  bless  you  for  the  word,  Mr.  Turtle!" 
exclaimed  Maggie,  shaking  with  emotion. 

"I  have  but  a  slight  acquaintance  with  Miss  Rooney, 
that  you  are  so  fond  of  repeating,"  said  Dan,  with  sad 
dignity,  "but  I  thought  I  knew '  Forever '  Maggie  pretty 
well.  I  didn't  look  for  her  to  misjudge  me.  God  knows, 
if  I  could  have  saved  the  poor  boy  with  my  own  life  I 
would  have  done  it.  And  I'm  speaking  not  as  her 
friend,  but  as  an  officer,  Mr.  Turtle." 

"Ah  ha!"  laughed  Josiah  Turtle,  scornfully.  "It's 
not  a  scratch  I  saw  on  you  then,  or  see  on  you  now,  Mr. 
Magee." 

Dan  Magee  heard  him  almost  without  anger.  By  that 
peculiar  code,  recognized  among  those  of  his  order  on 
the  East  Side,  Josiah  Turtle,  in  his  view,  had  a  right  to 
the  position  he  assumed.  He  had  a  right  to  the  ad- 
vantage even  which  his  low  cunning  had  made  for  him. 
The  mere  virtue  of  a  physical  courage  displayed  at  the 
accident  of  which  they  spoke  counted  for  nothing  with 
the  man  who  had  exhibited  it.  Dan  Magee  did  not  sus- 
pect that  the  malevolent  coward  in  front  of  him  would 
have  been  found  wanting  there.  It  was  a  part  of  the 
tradition  of  the  force,  and  was  expected,  and  daily 
practised  by  its  members  everywhere.  However  it  was 
praised,  it  was  taken  for  granted,  and  Dan  Magee  rated 
it  as  an  ordinary  incident  in  the  line  of  his  duty.  Josiah 
Turtle  had  a  right  to  lament  Blade  Rooney's  death,  and 

267 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

in  the  logic  of  the  East  Side  a  right  to  criticise  its  detail 
because  he  had  been  present  and  was  a  part  of  it.  If 
his  judgment  was  distorted  and  prejudiced,  that  was  his 
business.  Dan  could  have  met  his  evil  reproaches  on 
his  own  ground  and  defended  himself  with  vigor  but 
for  the  hurt  in  his  heart  because  of  Maggie.  Their 
gradual  falling  apart  since  the  change  in  her  fortunes 
had  been  a  sore  spot  in  his  breast,  and  that  it  should 
culminate  in  this  burst  of  feeling  when  she  was  experi- 
encing great  grief  was  to  him  not  unnatural.  He  did 
not  associate  it  with  any  duplicity  upon  Turtle's  part,  as 
much  as  he  disliked  him.  His  nature  was  too  simple  in 
its  direct  honesty  to  believe  that  she  could  be  moved 
to  injustice  against  himself  by  such  an  influence.  He 
thought  her  state  of  mind  the  result  of  her  judgment 
upon  the  accident  as  she  saw  it,  and  her  attitude  went 
deep.  Brave  hearts  are  always  tender,  but  sorrow  does 
not  deprive  them  of  courage;  it  strengthens  them. 
Josiah  Turtle  knew  the  East  Side,  its  lower  pride  and 
its  sullen  prejudice.  He  was  a  wicked,  ill-conditioned, 
reckless  rascal,  with  all  the  city's  shrewdness  and  it's 
worst  cunning.  Dan  Magee  did  not  know  his  record, 
or  he  might  have  sought  his  picture  in  the  Rogues'  Gal- 
lery. He  would  not  have  found  it,  but  it  should  have 
been  there  but  for  Mr.  Turtle's  astuteness  and  his  better 
luck.  He  was  practised  in  all  the  disreputable  arts,  but 
he  did  not  lack  that  insolent  physical  courage  that  would 
seek  strife  if  it  would  result  to  his  own  designs.  As 
Maggie  grew  more  distressed,  and  Dan's  face  set  itself 
deeper  in  a  sad  resignation,  Josiah  Turtle  grew  bolder. 
As  he  knew  the  East  Side,  he  was  learned  in  the  prac- 
tices of  Broad  Street,  where,  as  a  hanger-on  of  the  bucket- 
shops,  he  made  his  livelihood.  He  could  fit  his  language 
to  meet  his  associates.  He  had  the  combined  duplicity 
of  the  wolf  and  the  fox. 

"You'll  be  going  soon,  Mr.  Magee?"  he  said,  grinning. 
268 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"I  think  so,"  said  Dan,  quietly.  "But  I'll  be  coming 
again,  I'm  thinking,  when  Maggie  has  had  time  to  run 
this  over  in  her  mind.  Perhaps  when  you  are  not  pres- 
ent I  may  say  a  word  to  her." 

Poor  Maggie's  grief  and  perplexity  led  her  to  lengths 
which  she  did  not  intend.  She  was  in  nowise  cunning 
or  guileful.  She  knew  only  that  she  suffered ;  and  in  her 
distress,  like  many  kind  women  confident  of  the  love 
she  gives  and  that  which  she  receives,  she  struck  at  the 
heart  she  valued  because  self-reproach  would  ease  her 
pain. 

"You'll  be  coming  when  I  ask  you,  Dan  Magee,"  she 
said.  "I  never  looked  to  see  the  day  when  I  would  say 
this  to  you — when  the  image  of  me  brother,  dying  with- 
out a  priest,  would  come  between  us.  God  forgive  us 
all!" 

"You  heard  her,  Mr.  Magee?"  said  Josiah  Turtle. 

"I  heard  her,"  replied  Dan.  "I  would  like  to  think 
I  didn't.  But  God  forgive  us  all,  as  Maggie  says,  I  did! 
I'm  sorry,  my  girl.  You  know  my  beat,  and  I  walk  it 
regular.  You  can  always  find  me  there.  But  make 
some  other  than  this  man  your  messenger.  He's  a 
grudge  fast  enough,  and  I  broke  his  car — his  car,  or, 
maybe,  the  one  he  had  to  pay  for." 

"You're  right,"  responded  Turtle,  grasping  quickly 
a  falsehood  ready  for  his  lips.  "I'm  not  complaining 
of  the  money  it  cost  me,  and  it  does  you  wrong  to  speak 
it  to  a  lady — to  mention  the  matter  of  the  poor  money 
I  am  out,  when  my  grudge  is  the  loss  of  my  friend — the 
poor  dead  boy — " 

Again  Mr.  Turtle  paused. 

Dan  Magee  turned  quickly  and  strode  from  the  house. 
He  heard  Maggie's  sobs  as  he  passed  down  the  hall,  but 
he  did  not  quicken  his  steps.  His  heart  was  already 
full,  and  he  could  give  nothing  to  an  expression  of  his 
grief.  The  night  breeze  blew  cool  through  the  streets, 

269 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

and  he  took  off  his  hat  that  it  might  refresh  his  heated 
brow  as  he  turned  into  Avenue  A.  At  the  corner  he  met 
Jacob  Roth. 

"Shall  we  go  to  Mat's?"  asked  the  iron- worker. 

"I'll  not,"  answered  Dan.  "I'm  tired,  and  am  going 
home  to  bed." 

"I'm  to  say  farewell  to  them,  for  a  time,"  said  Jacob. 
"The  union  sends  me  West,  and  I'm  off  the  day  follow- 
ing to-morrow.  I'm  going  to  my  old  home,  at  Mon- 
mouth,  too.  I've  something  on  my  mind  that  I  want 
to  relieve." 

Dan  Magee  looked  at  him  enviously,  if  Jacob  could 
have  seen  it. 

"I've  something  on  my  mind  that  I  could  brag  about 
if  I  was  proud,  and  I'd  give  it  to  any  man  who  was  not 
my  friend.  For  how  long?" 

Jacob  Roth  shook  his  head,  and  looked  down  under 
the  gas-light. 

"I'm  not  saying.  When  I've  heard  that  Rose  Letch- 
er's  back,  I'll  be  on  hand.  When  the  steamer  that 
fetches  her  touches  the  dock,  I'll  know  it  here  if  I'm 
alive." 

He  struck  his  breast  heavily  with  his  hand. 

"These  women  keep  us  knowing  that  we're  alive, 
Jake,"  said  Dan,  with  a  low  laugh.  "I've  been  up  to 
Maggie's,  and  Turtle's  there." 

"He's  a  blackguard,"  said  Jacob. 

"He's  that.  I  wish  I  had  a  good  warrant  for  him, 
and  an  order  from  the  chief  to  produce  him  somewhere. 
He'd  come.  Good -night." 

He  went  home  to  bed  but  not  to  sleep,  and  the  night 
induced  a  sudden  resolution.  At  noon  the  following 
day  he  presented  himself  at  the  office  of  Launcelot  Duf- 
field  in  Wall  Street.  The  financier  was  busy,  but  Dan 
was  not  delayed.  He  followed  the  clerk  who  conducted 
him  to  the  inner  office,  and  stood  with  quiet  dignity 

270 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

under  the  eyes  of  the  modern  great  man.  Mr.  Duffield 
was  not  alone.  Mr.  Fox  was  present,  with  other  modern 
great  men,  who  regarded  the  policeman  curiously,  in 
view  of  the  hasty  word  which  Launcelot  Duffield  had 
spoken  when  he  was  announced.  The  financier  believed 
that  the  business  sought  was  not  private.  He  desired 
to  exhibit  this  type  to  his  friends. 

"You  were  good  enough  to  say,  Mr.  Duffield,  that 
there  was  room  in  your  service  for  a  man  like  me." 

"So  soon?"  laughed  the  financier.  "Well,  I  meant 
it,  Magee." 

"Thank  you,  sir.  The  opportunities  of  the  force  are 
all  right  for  me,  but  sometimes  it's  sickness  and  some- 
times it's  sorrow  that  changes  a  man's  course  of  life. 
While  my  record's  clear,  I  thought  I  would  come  to 
you." 

"Ah!"  said  Launcelot  Duffield,  with  a  quick  memory 
of  the  interview  between  Lucia  Harrington  and  the  girl 
whom  he  had  been  called  to  meet.  "  I  hope  there's  noth- 
ing of  that  sort  behind  your  application;  but  whatever 
it  is,  I'm  glad  to  receive  it.  I've  mentioned  you  to  my 
friends  here.  The  National  Mutual  Iron  Company  could 
use  you  just  now.  From  the  duties  of  a  special  officer 
there  may  be  a  rise  for  you  in  the  operating  force.  I'll 
look  after  you  personally,  if  you'll  come." 

"Thank  you,  sir.     I'm  ready." 

"Very  good.  I'll  give  directions  at  once  to  the 
superintendent,  and  have  you  advised  where  to  report. 
Good-day." 

Dan  saluted  and  retired,  only  to  be  stopped  in  the 
outer  office  as  a  bell  rang  sharply. 

"Wait,  sir,  will  you?"  said  a  man,  showing  him  to  a 
seat. 

Dan  seated  himself  while  the  clerk  went  in  answer  to 
the  summons,  disappearing  down  the  line  of  employe's 
at  their  desks.  He  returned  shortly. 

271 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"We  have  your  address,"  he  said;  "and  papers  will 
be  sent  to  you  this  afternoon.  Mr.  Duffield  suggests 
that  you  see  your  captain  at  once." 

Thanking  him,  Dan  left  the  building,  and  at  Broad- 
way boarded  a  car  for  headquarters.  Things  worked 
rapidly  at  the  office  which  henceforth  was  to  take  him 
in  charge,  for  upon  his  arrival  at  the  station  a  telephone 
message  had  preceded  him.  He  found  his  chief  filled 
with  surprise,  grief,  and  congratulation. 

"I'm  sorry  to  lose  you,  Dan.  but  I  know  Mr.  Duffield. 
These  people  will  look  after  you  all  right.  I've  had 
my  word  over  the  'phone,  and  already  they  are  talking 
to  the  Commissioners.  We'll  release  you  now,  but  the 
boys  will  always  stand  ready  to  co-operate  with  your 
new  job.  It's  luck,  old  man." 

Dan  thanked  him,  but  something  in  his  face  made  that 
of  his  friendly  superior  grave.  Was  it  an  extra  hazard- 
ous employment  that  the  Wall  Street  corporation  had 
found  for  the  pride  of  his  precinct?  He  made  no  in- 
quiries, however,  and  Dan  left  his  shield  and  went  away. 
That  night  he  called  at  the  lodgings  of  Jacob  Roth. 

"When  are  you  going  to  leave  town,  old  man?"  he 
asked. 

"It's  to-morrow." 

"I'll  go  with  you,  if  it's  handy." 

"How  is  it  you're  off  duty?" 

"I've  left  the  force." 

Dan  sank  into  a  chair  and  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands. 

For  some  moments  the  iron- worker  regarded  him  with- 
out comment. 

"Is  it  Turtle?"  he  asked. 

"It's  Turtle,  I  guess.     He's  done  me." 

"I  wouldn't  leave  him  in  charge,"  said  Jacob  Roth. 
"I'd  stay  and  make  a  fight  for  it,  anyway." 

"It's  the  girl,"  said  Dan.  "What  do  I  care  for  the 
272 


PURPLE   AND    HOMESPUN 

man?  I  wouldn't  stand  in  Maggie's  light  for  an  in- 
spector's commission.  I've  got  a  job — better  than  the 
one  I'm  leaving,  if  it  was  money  I  sought.  I  went  to 
Wall  Street  after  it." 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Jacob.     "It's  Duffield?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,"  mused  the  iron- worker,  his  countenance  re- 
flective, "he's  the  worst  in  his  way,  and  we  are  like 
to  have  trouble  with  him.  But  I'm  drawing  his  money 
myself,  for  that  matter.  After  all,  the  difficulty  seems 
to  be  that  we  don't  get  enough  of  it,  and  since  he's 
promised  you  something  good,  I  see  no  reason  why  you 
shouldn't  take  the  job.  You  must  work  for  somebody. 
The  more  good  men  he  has  the  better  we  are  off." 

"I'm  no  socialist,  or  anarchist,  or  anything  of  that 
sort,  Jake,"  said  Dan.  "It's  easy  for  me  to  earn  pretty 
near  everything  I  want.  Duffield's  at  the  top,  and  I 
don't  see  that  he's  got  much  that  I  need.  I'd  rather 
have  what  Turtle's  likely  to  get  than  all  that  Duffield 
will  ever  have." 

"I  might  say  something  like  that  myself,"  said  Jacob 
Roth,  eying  him  gloomily.  "I  guess  I'm  more  of  a 
striker  than  a  socialist.  It's  money  I  want  —  for  the 
union,  not  for  myself.  Since  Rose  has  gone,  the  Pro- 
fessor talks  over  my  head.  I've  been  thinking  some, 
myself,  ever  since  I  faced  Duffield  up-town.  If  I  had 
his  big  car  I  wouldn't  ride  in  it,  and  if  I  had  his  big 
house  I  wouldn't  be  fit  to  live  in  it.  Make  us  as  rich  as 
you  please,  and  we  would  not  have  his  manner,  nor  his 
eye,  nor  his  voice.  It  ain't  their  places  we  want,  it's  to 
make  them  make  our  places  better,  I'm  thinking.  It's 
only  of  late  it  struck  me  that  if  we  put  them  out  of 
business  we  will  go  with  them.  After  all,  if  every  fel- 
low is  a  boss  there'll  be  nobody  to  work.  Somehow  the 
Professor  don't  seem  to  answer  that." 

"I'll  let  you  bother  about  such  things,  Jake.  I'm 
273 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

content  to  go  out  and  see  the  green  country  with  you, 
having  a  few  days  to  myself." 

"Good  for  that!  Do  you  know,  Dan,  that  I  suspect 
the  trouble  with  both  of  us  is  behind  that  bloody  Trust 
Company?  Ever  since  I  brought  Marshall  Treemon  to 
the  East  Side  things  have  gone  wrong.  The  Board  of 
Charities  shipped  old  man  Beechy's  son  out  West,  a 
pauper,  to  be  adopted  there,  just  as  I  was  told.  I  have 
looked  it  up.  Now  I'm  going  out  to  see  what  became 
of  him.  Then,  when  I  come  back,  and  lies  are  told  me, 
I'll  believe  only  what  I  please." 

"I'm  sorry  to  quit  'the  Corners,'  "  said  Dan.  "It's 
hard." 

"The  place  that  Maggie's  about — I  guess!  It's  easier 
for  me,  I  confess,  since  Rose  has  left  them.  But  I 
haven't  found  anything  but  hard  places  in  life.  When 
I  come  across  a  spot  that's  soft  enough  to  dig  a  hole  in 
I'm  going  to  put  myself,  or  some  other  fellow,  into  it." 

Dan  did  not  trouble  himself  to  find  a  meaning  for  this 
remark.  They  went  down  together  for  a  farewell  word 
with  Mat  Durgan. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

LADY    DARROW'S    RECEPTION 

ABOVE  the  towers  of  St.  Wemyss,  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  Park  Lane  house,  about  the  lodgings  of  Captain 
Algeron  Travers  and  the  apartments  of  Mrs.  Littlefield, 
the  English  skies  were  clearing.  Sir  William  Dawn  was 
bound  to  observe  this  atmospheric  condition  with  satis- 
faction and  gratitude.  As  a  diplomatist  he  dare  do  all 
that  became  a  baronet  and  a  gentleman;  but  fate  was 
a  kindly  oracle  in  English  upper  circles,  and  regulated 
many  of  its  decrees,  apparently,  with  a  benign  consid- 
eration thereof.  This  was  as  it  should  be,  and  Sir 
William  congratulated  Captain  Travers  warmly,  who 
in  turn  congratulated  himself.  At  an  eventful  moment 
Rose  Letcher  had  appeared  upon  the  social  horizon  and 
within  the  immediate  precincts  of  St.  Wemyss  and  the 
Park  Lane  house ;  but  with  that  wisdom  born  of  a  cau- 
tion inherent  in  women,  she  had  exhibited  a  spirit  of 
self-effacement  that  did  much  to  condone  for  the  em- 
barrassment she  had  once  caused  the  then  younger 
Baronet  and  his  younger  friend.  Mrs.  Littlefield  had 
kept  her  compact  with  Lady  Darrow  in  the  matter  of 
the  contemplated  charities,  and  duly  provided  the  checks 
she  had  promised ;  and  Lady  Harrow's  beneficiaries  were 
made  comfortable  and  happy,  to  the  English  lady's 
great  joy.  Mrs.  Littlefield  had  made  Lady  Darrpw  a 
visit  that  was  the  basis  of  their  joint  benevolence,  but 
Rose  Letcher,  despite  her  suggestion  to  Marshall  Tree- 
mon,  had  resolutely  held  herself  in  seclusion  and  per- 

275 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

sisted  in  a  refusal  to  meet  either  Lady  Darrow  or  Vic- 
toria. Mrs.  Littlefield  was  surprised,  but  not  especially 
annoyed,  at  this.  She  attributed  it  to  a  diffidence  that 
grew  out  of  the  girl's  inexperience.  Naturally  she  would 
shrink  from  meeting  English  people  of  quality  so  soon 
after  her  unusual  entrance  into  Mrs.  Littlefield's  life. 
And  to  both  Lady  Darrow  and  Victoria  the  circumstances 
of  her  recent  coming  were  known.  She  now  had  Mar- 
shall Treemon  for  a  frequent  companion,  for  which  Mrs. 
Littlefield  was  grateful,  and  the  good  lady  thought  it 
unwise  at  this  time  to  force  her  to  any  social  duty.  Lady 
Darrow  was  consumed  with  curiosity  concerning  the 
niece  of  her  friend,  a  feeling  which  Victoria  naturally 
shared ;  but  when  they  called,  Rose  pleaded  a  headache 
and  did  not  appear.  Victoria  had  learned  of  Marshall 
Treemon 's  frequent  calls  at  the  Littlefield  apartments, 
and  was  angered  to  find  herself  uneasy  and  uncomfort- 
able because  of  it.  Her  embarrassment  and  indecision 
had  grown  since  she  had  written  him  the  letter  which 
he  had  not  answered.  She  had  no  ground  for  complaint 
in  this ;  yet  it  made  her  unhappy. 

Sir  William's  relief  grew  out  of  the  fact  that  Mr. 
Littlefield  had  cabled  his  wife  that  he  could  not  return 
to  England  at  present  and  she  was  to  come  to  him.  Cap- 
tain Travers,  in  his  perplexity,  had  again  surrendered 
his  case  to  his  diplomatic  and  older  friend.  Nothing  of 
immediate  menace  had  as  yet  developed,  and,  apparent- 
ly, nothing  foreboded.  If  Mrs.  Littlefield  went  speedily, 
in  compliance  with  her  husband's  directions,  all  danger 
would  be  practically  over. 

One  peril  yet  portended.  Lady  Darrow  had  arranged 
a  reception  at  the  Park  Lane  house,  in  special  honor  of 
her  American  friends,  which  included,  with  Mrs.  Little- 
field,  her  niece  and  Marshall  Treemon.  Rose  Letcher 
might  have  the  judgment  to  be  ill ;  this  was  not  a  heavy 
draft  upon  feminine  tact.  Impending  sickness  certainly 

276 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

threatened  Captain  Travers,  of  which  fact  Lady  Darrow 
was,  of  course,  ignorant;  and  there  only  remained  the 
attendance  of  Marshall  Treemon,  which  was  in  itself  a 
matter  of  little  significance.  It  involved  only  Victoria, 
of  whom  neither  Lady  Darrow  nor  Captain  Travers  had 
any  fear.  One  useful  person,  at  this  juncture,  was  Lord 
Paget.  He  was  useful  because  of  his  ignorance  and  per- 
sistency. He  called  upon  Mrs.  Littlefield,  but  failed  to 
meet  Rose.  He  called  again,  and  frequently,  finally  meet- 
ing Marshall  Treemon  there.  He  was  good-natured, 
agreeable,  and  persistent.  He  at  last  saw  Rose  Letcher. 
She,  having  thought  the  matter  over,  and  by  degrees 
prepared  herself,  consented  to  come  into  the  reception- 
chamber.  Lord  Paget  was  delighted,  and  passed  an 
interesting  and  excited  half-hour. 

"By  Jove!"  he  reported;  "but,  do  you  know,  she's 
handsome,  and  accomplished!  She's  more — one  of  these 
scholarly  women  who  says  things.  I  say  woman — but 
she's  a  girl,  too.  I'm  blessed  if  you  can  tell  her  age. 
But  she's  way  above  her  age  in  any  girl  that  I  know, 
even  though  she's  twenty-five.  I  was  almost  tempted 
to  ask  her — she's  that  kind  of  person." 

This  was  interesting  to  Sir  William  and  Captain 
Travers,  who  heard  him  thoughtfully. 

"He's  a  great  fool,  you  know,"  observed  Sir  William; 
"but  he  can  tell  us  things.  We  can  encourage  his  going 
until  they  have  safely  left  the  country." 

The  intimacy  of  Marshall  Treemon  with  this  new  per- 
sonage continued  as  something  that  grew  in  interest 
with  Victoria.  What  was  more  natural  than  such  a 
friendship  ?  But  it  was  now  a  source  of  constant  thought 
and  worry.  She  had  no  rights,  but  still,  after  his  decla- 
ration, she  was  reluctant  to  see  him  in  any  way  consoled. 
Lady  Darrow  observed  her  subdued  condition  of  mind, 
but  she  did  not  comment  upon  it.  However  Marshall 
Treemon  might  be  beyond  the  pale  of  consideration  by 

277 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

the  daughter  of  an  earl,  he  was  not  one  to  be  readily 
forgotten.  Even  earls  bear  the  outward  semblance  of 
men  and  are  subject  to  comparison.  Lady  Darrow  was 
too  wise  a  woman  not  to  understand  that  Victoria  had 
eyes  and  a  judgment,  and  with  the  American  and  her 
nephew  upon  the  scales,  she  was  not  likely  to  be  de- 
ceived as  to  either  merit  or  manhood.  But  Lady  Dar- 
row knew  social  usage  and  prejudice,  and  her  niece  was 
educated  to  both.  Grace,  demeanor,  and  physical  per- 
fection were  well  enough  for  romance,  and  to  some  of 
this  a  girl  was  entitled ;  but  practical  advantage  weighed 
in  England,  and  Victoria  was  not  the  grade  of  girl  who 
marries  a  missionary,  to  live  among  savages,  simply  be- 
cause she  is  religiously  inclined.  The  simile  was  satis- 
factory, and  Lady  Darrow  was  content.  Captain  Trav- 
ers,  her  nephew,  was  also  content.  In  the  absence  of 
any  direct  knowledge  of  his  past  misdeeds  upon  the  part 
of  Victoria  and  his  aunt,  he  felt  that  he  was  safe.  He 
compared  his  inches  and  his  uniform  with  the  polished 
but  unfamiliar  stranger,  and  whiffed  his  contempt. 

"But  I  don't  get  on  with  her  as  I  should,"  he  com- 
plained to  Sir  William.  "She's  gone  to  the  dumps, 
and  I  must  wait  on  her  humor  for  a  time.  It's  a  set- 
tled matter  between  us,  however,  and  we'll  fix  the  day 
when  we  have  seen  my  uncle." 

"I  rather  like  the  fellow,"  said  Sir  William,  thinking 
of  Marshall  Treemon  with  the  intuition  of  an  experienced 
man  of  the  world.  "But  the  Englishwoman  has  never 
inclined  to  the  foreign  man.  She  has  differed  from  her 
brother  in  this  respect.  Occasionally  they  have  indulged 
themselves  in  Indian  complications,  but  such  occurrences 
are  rare.  Do  you  know,  Travers,  if  I  thought  Victoria 
was  undecided  here,  I  would  drop  my  good-nature  in 
spite  of  his  and  teach  him  something?" 

Captain  Travers  was  pleased. 

"Do  you  know,  I  have  thought  of  that  myself,"  he 
278 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

answered.  "But  really,  though  I  like  Victoria,  she 
being  my  cousin,  I  can't  stir  up  much  feeling  beyond 
the  matter-of-course?  Now  that  it's  settled,  I'm  easy 
in  my  mind,  and  the  beggar  is  so  polite  and  well-disposed, 
I  rather  like  him,  too.  After  all,  old  man,  Rose  was 
dark  and  had  eyes  and  a  temper.  Do  you  know  that 
rotten  experience  has  stuck  with  me  ever  since;  and  I 
can't  forget  her  wholly,  and  all  that?  It's  a  kind  of 
punishment,  perhaps,  that's  visited  on  a  fellow.  It's 
terrible — this  thing  of  her  turning  up  as  Littlefield's 
niece,  with  more  money  than  a  London  bank,  and 
Paget  coming  around  here  telling  us  about  her  good 
looks.  All  it  needs  now  to  even  things  up  with  me  is 
to  have  that  fellow  Treemon  marry  her.  And  why 
shouldn't  he,  from  what  Paget  says?  He's  going  about 
there  all  the  time." 

"Maybe  you  had  better  go  in  and  stop  it,"  laughed 
Sir  William.  "I'll  have  an  opportunity  to  see  her  at 
the  reception,  if  she  goes — which  she  will  not;  and  if 
she  does,  you  must  not.  I  shall  keep  in  the  back- 
ground, probably,  unless  Lady  Darrow  forces  me  to  the 
front.  And  if  so,  why — let  us  hope  that  Miss  Letcher 
has  learned  things  in  these  intervening  years  and  can 
keep  the  face  that  I  shall.  That's  easier  for  a  woman 
than  a  man.  I  don't  know  why,  but  it  is." 

The  evening  for  the  reception  at  the  Park  Lane  house 
came  in  due  time,  and  it  was  Captain  Travers  who  was 
ill.  Mrs.  Littlefield  had  notified  Lady  Darrow  that  Rose 
had  consented  to  be  present,  at  which  her  friend  had 
expressed  her  great  gratification  and  pleasure.  The 
English  lady  was  not  offended  at  this  suggested  reluc- 
tance, familiar  as  she  was  with  all  the  circumstances  so 
recently  attached  to  Mrs.  Littlefield's  niece.  The  girl's 
diffidence  spoke  well  for  her.  The  only  doubt  was  as  to 
the  appearance  which  Rose  might  make,  but  in  this 
Lady  Darrow  had  her  knowledge  of  her  sex.  The  girl 

279 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

couldn't  be  more  than  silent  and  abashed;  and  young 
Englishwomen  were  always  so.  She  would  be  garbed 
correctly,  for  Mrs.  Littlefield  had  spoken  enthusiastical- 
ly of  the  modiste  and  the  jeweller.  Trust  an  American 
woman  to  gild  refined  gold! — there  was  really  little  to 
fear  upon  that  score. 

Rose  Letcher's  struggle  with  herself  was  over.  Mar- 
shall Treemon  had  expressed  a  wish  to  see  her  at  the 
reception,  and  now  she  smiled  at  the  thought  that  she 
would  be  glad  to  see  him  there.  She  desired  this  in  a 
spirit  of  which  he  had  no  knowledge ;  she  desired  to  see 
Victoria,  and  to  see  him  in  her  company.  In  the  soli- 
tude of  her  bedchamber  she  had  reasoned  with  herself 
for  days,  thinking  of  her  future  and  finding  the  heart  to 
meet  it;  courage  she  did  not  lack.  Something  was  due 
from  her  if  she  must  take  the  life  which  fortune  offered 
her.  She  had  told  Marshall  Treemon  the  truth.  In 
the  presence  of  luxury  and  its  soft  and  impelling  in- 
fluence, she  was  yielding  to  a  change  of  heart.  She 
smiled  to  find  herself  so  entirely  a  woman.  She  did  not 
fear  the  reception  on  account  of  Captain  Travers.  Since 
the  moment  of  her  determination  to  go,  she  was  as  cer- 
tain as  she  felt  that  she  could  think  that  he  would  not 
be  present.  Her  own  boldness  would  halt  him;  her 
present  position  and  its  sustaining  support  would  halt 
him;  he  could  find  a  hundred  excuses  for  absence.  She 
would  go,  and  her  decision,  announced,  so  pleased  Mar- 
shall Treemon  that  she  was  compensated  for  any  hesi- 
tancy or  doubt  that  might  have  influenced  her;  for  he 
was  pleased,  notwithstanding  he  would  see  Victoria 
Wemyss  there. 

Determined  now,  she  girded  herself  for  the  ordeal 
with  confidence  and  pride.  She  met  the  approaches  of 
her  aunt  to  the  fullest  and  welcomed  the  clustering  and 
costly  costumers. 

"Blessed  are  the  dressmakers,  for  they  shall  inherit 
280 


PURPLE   AND    HOMESPUN 

the  kingdom,"  she  laughed,  with  the  wit  of  woman,  as 
she  submitted  to  their  ministrations.  "Make  me  a  Cin- 
derella, and  I  promise  not  to  run  away  from  a  regiment 
of  princes,  let  the  clock  strike  its  will." 

Without  a  knowledge  of  her  meaning,  her  delighted 
aunt  spared  no  extravagance,  and  now  elate,  the  Cinder- 
ella whom  she  cited  drove  to  her  ball  with  no  greater  pride 
and  satisfaction  than  animated  the  woman  to  whom  such 
a  scene  was  as  strange  as  a  pageant  of  an  Arabian  night. 

The  long  room  with  its  lights  did  not  dazzle  her;  she 
had  looked  upon  assemblies  before,  though  they  were 
not  like  this.  She  had  been  the  centre  of  many  eyes, 
but  not  like  these.  She  met  Lady  Darrow  and  Victoria, 
and  smiled.  The  ease  of  her  first  few  words,  in  accents 
clear,  with  syllables  softly  emphasized,  would  have  re- 
assured her  had  she  needed  it.  It  was  they  who  were 
confused.  She  lifted  her  head  high,  conscious  of  some- 
thing that  they  recognized.  She  was  scornful  of  the 
crowd,  of  its  murmurs,  and  the  surprised  and  admiring 
glances  it  cast  at  her.  Its  colors  pleased  while  they 
amused  her.  The  men  in  uniform,  gilded,  striped,  and 
starred,  spoke  a  conscious  vanity  of  which  she  had  read 
but  had  never  seen.  She  almost  laughed  at  the  thought 
that  they  could  supplement  their  bodily  imperfections 
by  purple  and  fine  linen.  Lady  Darrow  became  profuse 
in  congratulation,  and  then  beamed  on  her  with  joy. 
She  looked  about  her  to  summon  those  distinguished 
ones  in  her  company  to  appear  and  admire,  while  Mrs. 
Littlefield,  with  an  effort,  suppressed  tears  of  ecstasy. 
Rose  saw  this,  and  her  emotion  softened.  A  new  light 
shone  in  her  eyes,  adding  to  her  strange  beauty.  Mar- 
shall Treemon  came  with  the  American  ambassador, 
and  then  followed  titles,  military  and  naval.  The  peer- 
age came,  too,  and  all  sought  to  linger,  for  an  apt  re- 
sponse met  conventional  greetings,  pointed  with  a  laugh 
which  brought  a  laugh  in  reply. 

x»  281 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Lady  Darrow  glowed  in  an  increasing  amazement. 
This  strange  young  woman  knew  rank  and  names,  and 
cited  instances  and  deeds.  Sir  William  came  from  a 
distance,  peeping  gingerly  over  the  clustered  heads  and 
venturing  at  last  into  the  charmed  circle.  He  was  met 
as  the  others.  Nothing  in  the  dark,  smiling  face  ex- 
pressed recognition,  and  there  was  no  change  in  the  shin- 
ing eyes.  He  went  away  in  wonder. 

To  Victoria,  who  resisted  all  effort  upon  the  part  of 
various  gentlemen  to  take  her  away,  and  by  some  singu- 
lar fascination  remained  at  her  side,  she  was  simplicity 
and  graciousness  itself.  She  spoke  to  her  gently  and 
softly,  bending  her  head  for  questions  when  opportunity 
offered,  and  thanking  her  with  a  winning  expression  of 
gratitude.  The  Earl's  daughter  did  not  patronize  her. 
She  admired  and  wondered  with  the  rest. 

Marshall  Treemon  came  again. 

"Do  you  think  you  could  spare  Lady  Victoria?"  he 
asked  of  Lady  Darrow.  "It  has  been  suggested  that 
there  is  too  much  youth  and  beauty  at  this  end  of  the 
room." 

"You  may  take  any  one  but  Miss  Letcher,  Senator 
Treemon,"  said  Lady  Darrow,  turning  for  an  instant 
from  a  bespangled  general,  a  relic  of  the  Ashantee  war, 
with  whom  she  was  speaking.  "Restore  the  balance  of 
empire,  and  take  Victoria  to  the  other  end  of  the  earth." 

"Is  your  aunt  malicious?"  he  asked,  in  a  low  voice, 
bending  his  head  as  they  walked  away  together. 

"I  never  found  her  so." 

"Her  request  had  a  barb." 

"Many  requests  have  barbs,"  she  observed,  gently. 
"Isn't  Miss  Letcher  a  strangely  attractive  person?" 

"Yes.  I'm  glad  you  like  her.  She  wins  equally  with 
women — which  justifies  your  warm  approval.  To-night 
I  am  to  say  farewell  to  you.  I  am  sailing  day  after 
to-morrow.  I  wonder  if  we  shall  ever  meet  again?" 

282 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"I  trust  so,"  she  replied. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said,  after  a  moment  of  hesitation. 
"I  doubt  if  England  will  see  me  soon  again.  I  return 
to  many  duties." 

At  the  end  of  the  long  room  a  door  opened  into  a 
smaller  apartment,  but  the  entrance  was  closed  by  a 
row  of  plants  that  extended  along  the  wall.  Above  them 
the  lights  were  shining,  and  between  he  could  see  that 
it  was  a  miniature  study. 

"It's  my  aunt's  writing-room,"  she  said,  as  they 
paused  there  and  he  looked  in.  "A  door  enters  from 
the  dining-hall." 

' '  It's  deserted, ' '  he  remarked.    ' '  Could  we  get  through  ?" 

She  smiled  as  she  recalled  that  it  was  here  that  she 
had  gone  with  Captain  Travers  at  the  reception  which 
followed  her  return  from  America.  She  was  cynical  in 
the  memory,  and  curious  as  to  what  Marshall  Treemon 
might  now  say  to  her. 

"You  can  push  aside  the  plants,"  she  said,  as  he  put 
his  foot  against  the  potted  shrubs.  "They  aren't  heavy. 
But  if  you  are  seeking  seclusion,  you'll  scarcely  find  it 
there.  Others  are  coming.  They  are  packed  on  the 
stairway." 

"I'll  risk  it,  and  your  aunt's  displeasure,"  he  said,  fol- 
lowing her  suggestion.  "For  some  reason  she  shuts  the 
throng  out  of  her  sanctum;  but  see — we'll  tempt  it,  and 
I  leave  the  excuses  to  you  and  to  to-morrow." 

Alone  they  seated  themselves  at  the  table. 

"A  relief,"  she  sighed.     "I'm  tired." 

"Receptions  are  wearisome  functions  at  times,"  he 
said.  "I  mean — they  must  be  for  women." 

"Why  shouldn't  they  be  ?"  she  answered.  "They  are 
silly  functions,  with  nothing  in  them  but  dress — and  the 
meetings.  I  am  sailing  for  America,  too." 

"You?"  he  exclaimed,  in  surprise.     "When?" 

"Next  week — with  my  aunt  and  Captain  Travers. 
283 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

My  father  has  written  for  me,  and  my  aunt  and  cousin 
have  long  desired  to  go." 

"You  are  not — I  beg  pardon." 

"No,"  she  replied,  understanding  him.  "I  am  not 
to  be  married  soon.  When  I  informed  you  so  abruptly 
of  my  engagement  to  my  cousin,  I  fear  I  was  a  little 
ungenerous.  I  know  I  was,  upon  reflection,  and  it  was 
the  reason  for  my  letter.  But  your  declaration,  Senator 
Treemon,  confused  me.  You  will  remember  that  it  was 
at  my  home,  where  you  were  a  stranger,  and  among  my 
people." 

"Yes;  but  it  was  not  unexpected?  It  could  not 
have  been." 

"No,"  she  answered,  gently.  "And  yet — I  was  not 
prepared  for  it." 

He  looked  at  her  earnestly. 

"Dare  I  refer  to  it  again?" 

He  trembled  with  eagerness,  thrilled  by  her  presence, 
her  manner,  and  her  beauty. 

"It  might  be  dangerous,"  she  murmured,  her  head 
lowered  and  her  eyes  veiled.  But  she  remembered  Rose 
Letcher  and  spoke  on.  "It  is  a  subject  which — as  all 
the  world  knows  —  is  strangely  fascinating  to  a  girl. 
And  since  my  fate  is  made  for  me — has  long  been  made 
for  me — I  cannot  let  this,  the  only  real  romance  I  have 
ever  known,  slip  away  with  an  injustice  to  you  which 
I  must  recall  at  all  times  with  grief.  All  that  you 
could  say,  you  said  —  and  my  letter  was  from  my 
heart." 

Her  cheeks  were  flushed,  her  eyes  still  averted,  but 
she  spoke  clearly  and  with  firmness. 

The  room  reeled  about  him.  She  felt  the  table  quiver 
under  the  pressure  of  his  arms. 

"If  I  should  speak  in  reply — if  I  should  dare  one 
word,"  he  said,  finally,  his  voice  hoarse  with  the  effort, 
"I  should  lose  myself." 

284 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

She  rose,  looking  at  him  with  a  quick  smile  and  with 
eyes  that  were  moist. 

"No. one  can  help  us,"  she  said.  "However,  since  it 
is  over,  it  is  over.  You  sail  on  the  same  steamer  with 
Mrs.  Little  field?  She  goes  day  after  to-morrow." 

"Yes." 

"Come,"  she  said.     "They  will  miss  us." 

He  stepped  to  her  side,  and  they  passed  again  into 
the  large  room,  going  towards  the  group  at  the  farther 
end  where  star  and  uniform  still  gathered  about  Rose 
Letcher. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

MARSHALL   TREEMON*S    RETURN 

A  FOG  was  in  the  streets  of  London  upon  the  day 
which  followed  Lady  Barrow's  reception,  and  upon  the 
succeeding  day ;  and  it  followed  the  steamer  upon  which 
Marshall  Treemon  embarked  with  Mrs.  Littlefield  and 
Rose  Letcher  for  several  hundred  miles  out  to  sea.  But 
it  did  not  dampen  his  spirits  or  chill  the  glow  in  his 
heart,  which  was  warm  under  the  memory  of  the  words 
that  Victoria  Wemyss  had  spoken.  It  was  soothing  to 
believe  that  he  had  made  no  error,  however  he  might 
lament  the  circumstances  that  were  to  keep  him  and 
Victoria  apart.  It  did  not  detract  from  his  state  of 
mind  that  he  was  again  thrown  into  confusion  and  per- 
plexity; that  the  wound  had  reopened  which  it  might 
have  been  better  to  let  heal.  After  all,  the  delight  of 
love  was  in  loving.  It  was  better  to  have  loved  and 
lost  than  not  to  have  loved  Victoria  Wemyss. 

He  had  congratulated  Rose  Letcher  many  times  on 
her  social  triumph;  he  congratulated  Mrs.  Littlefield 
also,  who  continued  in  her  state  of  ecstasy.  Neither 
the  fog  nor  the  voyage  disturbed  her  beatitude  which 
she  nursed  voluptuously,  impatient  until  she  could  im- 
part it  to  her  waiting  husband.  What  mattered  now, 
perplexities  of  business,  or  any  perplexities  that  had 
delayed  him,  which  had  prevented  his  coming  to  her, 
and  which  called  them  home  ?  She  had  something  above 
the  price  of  rubies  to  confer  upon  him,  which  together 
they  might  treasure  and  worship.  She  was  bringing  to 

286 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

him  a  niece,  who  would  be  to  him  a  daughter  and  an 
heiress — a  daughter  and  an  heiress  who  was  worthy  of 
him,  who  had  shone  resplendent  amid  the  beauty  and 
chivalry  of  London,  who  was  worthy  of  his  affection 
and  his  millions. 

And  the  daughter  and  the  heiress  basked,  too,  in  the 
warmth  of  such  a  prospect,  and  the  knowledge  that  she 
had  risen  to  it.  She  was  proud  of  herself  in  spite  of  her 
common-sense,  for  she  was  first  of  all  a  woman.  Hu- 
manity weighs  upon  both  experience  and  progress,  and 
only  perfection  is  beyond  the  reach  of  flattery.  Rose 
Letcher,  socialist,  was  a  socialist  indeed,  with  a  new  fire 
and  a  new  ambition.  Almost  she  was  worth  the  man 
she  was  to  meet,  and  what  she  was  to  receive  from  him; 
the  same  causes  that  had  made  him  were  moving  to 
make  her.  Outwardly  she  was  placid  under  her  triumph, 
and  remained  so;  but  Marshall  Treemon  continued  a 
part  of  her  calculations.  With  her  searching  gaze,  her 
experience,  and  her  knowledge  of  human  motives,  she 
guessed  something  of  his  mental  condition.  She  was 
content  to  accept  him  as  he  was.  Whatever  life  he  had 
lived,  as  had  she,  prior  to  their  meeting,  belonged  to  each 
and  they  were  without  mutual  obligation.  It  was  suffi- 
cient that  he  was  attractive  and  distinguished;  that  he 
found  pleasure  in  her  company  and  responded  to  her 
intelligence.  She  was  not  a  believer  in  the  enduring 
nature  of  sentiment  and  affection  as  it  related  to  the 
sexes,  when  its  exciting  cause  had  departed.  She  be- 
lieved that  in  this  domain  human  nature  dealt  with  the 
moment  at  hand ;  she  believed  this  to  be  a  law.  Aspira- 
tion and  idealism  might  make  love  permanent,  but  not 
as  a  rule;  and  such  love  was  not  of  the  flesh.  In  the 
days  of  maturity  it  became  practical.  It  might  discard 
romance  with  a  sigh,  but  a  smile  would  succeed  when 
the  romance  was  forgotten.  She  believed  that  the 
woman  who  became  a  sister  to  a  man  in  an  affliction  of 

287 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

the  heart  grew  closer  as  the  absent  remained  away.  It 
was  a  cold  philosophy,  and  a  cynicism  in  a  woman ;  but 
she  believed  it  to  be  a  fact  of  experience.  Her  lip 
curled  in  mockery  as  she  looked  over  the  gray  waves, 
but  it  softened  in  his  presence  and  grew  tender  when 
he  spoke  to  her.  He  yielded  to  her  readily,  for  sym- 
pathy is  magnetic.  His  spirits  and  courtesy  charmed 
Mrs.  Littlefield,  who  spoke  of  the  matter  to  Rose.  Then 
the  good  lady  gasped  at  a  sudden  thought,  grew  silent 
and  serious,  looked  at  them  both,  and  gasped  again. 
From  thenceforth  she  grew  tender  also,  and  pride  and 
joy  mingled  with  her  reflections.  Colby  Littlefield  was 
all  too  far.  She  had  shared  with  him  for  years  all  the 
anxieties  of  his  strenuous  up-going.  She  missed  him 
now,  under  the  weight  of  rapture  which  burdened  her 
overflowing  and  awakened  maternal  heart. 

"You  are  not  to  leave  us  upon  our  arrival  in  New 
York,"  she  said  to  Marshall  Treemon.  "You  are  to 
go  to  Washington  with  us,  where  we  open  our  house  at 
once.  Lady  Darrow  has  promised  me  a  visit,  and  you 
are  to  help  us  with  Rose." 

She  was  a  generous  woman,  earnest  and  sincere. 
Marshall  Treemon  had  always  liked  her. 

"I  shall  not  go  West  until  after  the  session,"  he  replied. 
"I  have  some  business  with  Mr.  Littlefield  in  New  York; 
when  that  is  finished  I  shall  go  to  Washington.  I  have 
my  old  quarters  there,  and  they  will  be  glad  to  see  me." 

"You  shall  stop  with  us,"  she  said.  "Remember  the 
room  we  have.  That's  the  trouble  with  the  Washing- 
ton house;  it's  gloomy,  in  spite  of  the  gayety  and  the 
climate.  We  seem  lost  in  it." 

"America  is  not  England,  my  dear  Mrs.  Littlefield," 
he  answered,  with  a  smile.  "Imagine  a  senator  lodged 
in  the  home  of  Colby  Littlefield." 

"Oh,  you  politicians!"  she  exclaimed,  with  lifted  hands. 
"That's  another  trouble  with  Washington." 

288 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Lying  back  in  her  steamer-chair,  Rose  Letcher  listened, 
as  visions  flitted  through  her  mind.  Washington!  To 
what  was  she  going?  Here  was  Marshall  Treemon, 
pleasantly  in  the  flesh  and  much  within  her  thoughts; 
but  there  were  the  years  behind — the  East  Side,  with 
Professor  Frank,  Maggie,  and  Jacob  Roth  .  .  . 

A  week  behind  them  as  they  neared  Sandy  Hook, 
Victoria  Wemyss,  upon  another  steamer,  with  Ireland 
yet  in  sight,  carried  also  a  state  of  mind.  She  had  none 
of  Rose  Letcher 's  philosophy,  with  its  sustaining  strength, 
and  no  experience  upon  which  she  could  rely.  What 
mattered  the  man  who  stood  beside  her  now,  tall  and 
spare,  his  lank  form  in  a  long,  striped  travelling-coat, 
and  the  plaid  cap  upon  his  head  with  flaps  tied  above 
with  strings?  She  was  his  cousin,  held  as  his  horse,  his 
dog,  his  sword.  Must  a  country  that  would  produce  a 
man  whose  voice  was  tender,  whose  demeanor  was  gentle, 
whose  eyes  were  true,  and  who  could  love  a  woman 
without  possessing  her,  be  an  alien  land,  and  foreign  to 
her?  What  was  her  England  or  her  station,  her  name 
or  title,  if  all  meant  a  cruel  servitude  of  custom,  with 
love  barred  out?  An  American  wife!  She  had  seen 
them.  They  were  happy  creatures,  these  women  who 
could  call  their  souls  their  own,  and  who  could  look  at 
a  man  without  a  feeling  of  subjection.  She  sighed.  She 
did  not  lack  force,  but  it  was  the  force  of  gentleness. 
Her  lip  never  curled  and  her  eyes  were  never  scornful. 
She  could  rouse  herself  in  defence  of  her  conventions, 
but  not  to  break  them.  She  had  done  so  when  she  had 
accepted  her  cousin  under  the  pressure  of  Marshall 
Treemon's  coming  declaration  of  love.  She  did  not  lack 
spirit,  and  could  be  decisive,  sharp,  and  peremptory; 
but  not  beyond  the  limits  of  the  creed  in  which  she  had 
been  reared.  She  might  yet  reject  her  cousin,  whistling 
him  down  any  wind;  but  not  for  a  stranger  who  would 
take  her  from  every  familiar  scene,  and  for  whom  she 

289 


must  renounce  every  impulse  and  tradition  of  her  blood. 
Every  red  drop  of  it  tingled  with  the  treason  rooted  in 
her  heart,  which  she  denied  sadly,  mournfully,  and  with 
which  she  must  battle  to  the  end. 

The  steamer  with  its  first  voyagers  pushed  its  nose 
steadily  into  American  waters,  and  brought  Sandy  Hook 
out  of  their  blue  depths.  It  vibrated  with  the  bustle 
of  arrival  and  expectancy.  But  no  delay  or  embarrass- 
ment of  customs  awaited  the  coming  of  the  wife  of  one 
of  the  first  magnates  of  the  land.  Outside  the  bar  the 
dark  hull  of  Launcelot  Duffield's  yacht  lay  waiting,  its 
owner  and  Mr.  Littlefield  on  board.  It  steamed  along- 
side the  giant  liner,  over  the  rail  of  which  Mrs.  Little- 
field  hung  with  agonized  impatience. 

"Your  uncle,  my  dear!"  she  cried  to  Rose.  "The 
dear,  dear  man!  He  could  not  wait!  We  are  always 
met  by  either  a  yacht  or  a  tug.  Look,  dear!  He's 
waving  to  us." 

"Get  ready,  Senator,"  called  Launcelot  Duffield,  shout- 
ing to  Marshall  Treemon,  who  had  also  received  a  ca- 
ble which  promised  the  meeting  they  received.  "Bear  a 
hand  there,  to  help  the  ladies,  and  come  aboard.  Hello, 
captain!  I  hope  you've  had  a  good  voyage,"  he  cried 
to  the  officer  upon  the  bridge,  who  was  inspecting  the 
meeting  of  the  two  vessels. 

The  bluff  seaman  answered  his  greeting.  Even  the 
traditional  integrity  of  his  calling  was  not  proof  against 
a  sense  of  flattery  in  this  public  notice  from  a  man  of 
power  and  millions.  The  liner  must  wait  until  his  pur- 
pose was  served. 

Marshall  Treemon,  assisted  by  the  deck  officers,  helped 
the  ladies  to  the  yacht  and  into  the  arms  of  the  waiting 
magnate,  and,  shaking  hands  with  Launcelot  Duffield, 
they  went  forward  to  see  the  lines  cast  off.  Mr.  Little- 
field,  his  wife,  and  niece  were  shown  at  once  to  the 
privacy  of  the  cabin.  Marshall  Treemon  was  full  of 

290 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

interest,  but  his  generous  curiosity  must  wait.  Their 
meeting  was  not  to  be  disturbed. 

To  Rose  Letcher  it  was  a  moment  of  constraint  and 
embarrassment.  The  call  upon  her  was  far  greater  than 
the  effort  required  to  attend  the  Park  Lane  reception. 
The  husband  of  her  aunt,  a  famous  millionaire,  cold, 
severe,  restrained,  doubtless  not  too  affectionate,  and 
certainly  practical  in  all  things,  was  to  meet,  estimate, 
and  inspect  her.  She  shrank  back  in  herself.  He  was 
powerful,  worldly,  shrewd,  and,  above  all,  he  was  not 
to  be  deceived.  He  would  look  straight  through  her, 
noting  her  timidity  and  fear,  scornful  and  contemptuous 
of  both. 

In  a  moment  it  was  over.  She  almost  laughed  to 
think  that  she  could  stand  in  awe  of  one  whom  Mrs. 
Littlefield  held  with  such  familiarity.  All  her  confidence 
and  assertion  came  back  to  her,  with  an  added  strength 
of  purpose  and  a  better  recognition  of  her  power.  Mr. 
Littlefield,  his  severe  features  relaxed  to  kindliness  in 
the  pleasure  of  meeting  his  wife,  welcomed  her  with  a 
strange  heartiness,  taking  both  her  hands  in  his,  survey- 
ing her  with  gentle  and  kindly  critical  eyes,  scarcely 
conscious  of  the  stream  of  words  that  his  wife  poured 
all  the  time  into  his  ear,  telling  the  discovered  virtues, 
proclaiming  her  own  delight  and  happiness,  and  beg- 
ging him  to  exult  with  her  in  the  joy  of  having  a  daugh- 
ter; and  then  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms.  How  foolish 
she  had  been!  To  him  she  was  a  child,  and  his  age 
melted  to  her.  Her  cup  of  joy  now  filled  to  overflowing. 

"So  this  is  the  brave  little  girl,"  he  said,  "who  comes 
to  bring  us  a  new  pleasure  in  life  ?  This  is  the  dear 
little  stranger  who  has  been  out  battling  with  the  world, 
unaware  of  the  lonely  relatives  who  would  have  given 
her  their  hearts  and  home  years  ago  if  they  had  known 
where  to  find  her?  Well,  my  child,  if  you  could  know 
half  the  joy  that  we  feel  in  knowing  you,  and  in  your 

291 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

coming  to  us,  you  would  be  prepared  to  be  very  dutiful 
and  good  to  us." 

Rose  Letcher,  under  new  feelings,  sobbed  her  excite- 
ment in  his  fatherly  arms,  with  a  new  awakening  and 
a  new  hope. 

While  Rose  was  thus  winning  herself  and  her  new 
relative,  Marshall  Treemon  was  watching  the  Staten 
Island  shores  and  gathering  up  the  first  threads  of  the 
duties  to  which  he  had  returned.  Launcelot  Duffield 
was  pouring  information  and  suggestion  into  his  atten- 
tive ears.  The  financier  interrupted  himself  long  enough 
for  an  observation  and  a  question. 

"That's  a  pretty  girl  with  Mrs.  Littlefield.  The  new 
niece  that  Mr.  Littlefield  spoke  of?" 

"I  guess  she's  been  a  niece  of  his  wife  from  the  be- 
ginning," laughed  Marshall  Treemon.  He  was  surprised 
to  feel  how  glad  he  was  to  return.  "But  she  has  only 
just  come  into  the  family.  She's  pretty — yes;  and  a 
charming  young  woman  with  theories.  A  nice  daugh- 
ter for  Mr.  Littlefield  to  experiment  with.  She's  a  so- 
cialist." 

"Good!"  And  Launcelot  Duffield  laughed  also. 
"She'll  find  the  old  man  an  interesting  subject.  But 
that's  exactly  where  socialism  should  begin  and  end — 
with  a  woman." 

"If  we  could  only  end  it  there — letting  them  think  it 
out  and  influence  us  with  it." 

"Yes,"  said  the  financier.  "It's  merely  politics  now. 
Give  a  good  man  a  half-hour  to  think  it  over  and  he 
sees  there's  nothing  in  it.  The  press  is  using  it,  for  want 
of  something  better,  to  annoy  business  and  the  President. 
If  it  were  a  religion,  like  Christian  Science,  it  might  ac- 
complish something;  but  it's  a  mere  philosophy  with  no 
compelling  potency  behind  it." 

"What  have  you  done  about  the  consolidation?" 

"The  consolidation  is  all  right,  but  the  strike  troubles 

292 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

us.  It  hasn't  been  called,  but  it  will  be.  The  President 
refused  to  interfere  at  first;  but  we  have  influenced  a 
committee  of  the  workmen,  and  they  agree  to  go  to 
Washington  and  advise  with  him.  Now  that  you  are 
back,  you  can  help  us.  We  want  you  to  see  the  Presi- 
dent first  and  say  some  necessary  things  to  him." 

"He's  a  bold  man  who  ventures  necessary  things  to 
the  President,"  replied  Marshall.  "He's  got  enough 
paid  advisers  already.  And,  frankly,  my  friend,  I  think 
we  ought  to  trust  them.  They  represent  all  the  govern- 
ment we've  got,  and  they  are  the  best  that  such  a  gov- 
ernment can  secure.  Isn't  that  the  whole  matter — out- 
side of  personal  ends  and  politics?" 

"I  don't  know  who  is  responsible  for  conditions,"  was 
the  reply.  "It's  that,  and  not  a  theory,  that  we  are 
up  against  now.  We've  got  the  railroads  and  the  coal 
company,  and  we  have  got  to  use  them — and  we  can't 
use  them  profitably  as  they  are.  If  there's  no  money  in 
them  we  have  a  right  to  throw  them  over — into  the 
hands  of  receivers.  We  are  not  licensed  to  run  them  as 
a  charity.  And  when  we  throw  them  down  the  work- 
men and  all  the  dependents  go  with  them.  That's  the 
burden  on  us,  socialism  or  not.  They've  got  a  bureau 
of  literature,  with  a  professor  of  some  kind  preaching 
rebellion  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and  a  mail  named 
Roth—" 

"I  know  him,"  interrupted  Marshall. 

"Yes.  There  are  others,  but  he's  influential.  If  the 
President  would  see  these  people  and  flatter  them  a 
little — would  let  the  pressure  of  his  office  fall  a  little  by 
reflection  on  these  influences,  he  would  save  the  country 
a  lot  of  trouble.  It's  worth  his  interference." 

"I  will  do  what  I  can,"  said  Marshall  Treemon. 

"Thank  you.  Littlefield  is  a  general.  On  his  return 
things  got  better  at  once.  It  was  he  who  modified  the 
President's  view  and  put  the  matter  right  with  the 

293 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Attorney-General.  Fox  says  the  Sherman  law,  which 
makes  a  trade  monopoly  a  crime,  is  at  the  basis  of  the 
trouble  and  misunderstanding.  But  I  knew  that  be- 
fore." 

Marshall  Treemon  asked  about  Lucia  Harrington. 

"She's  lovely,  as  usual.  She'll  be  glad  to  see  you, 
and  she  should  meet  Littlefield's  new  relative.  We  had 
an  accident  while  you  were  away.  I  was  with  her  in 
an  automobile  in  front  of  her  house,  just  leaving,  when 
a  runaway  team  bumped  into  us.  The  carriage  pole 
killed  a  young  fellow  in  a  tonneau  alongside,  and  it 
would  have  hit  us,  but  a  policeman  pulled  the  horses 
off.  Lucia  saw  the  whole  thing,  and  she  hasn't  recov- 
ered yet  Funny!  The  young  fellow  killed  had  a  sister, 
and  she  came  to  see  us  because  she  had  some  relations 
with  the  officer  that  stopped  the  team.  She  blamed 
him,  I  think,  for  her  brother's  death,  and  they  had 
trouble.  I  took  the  officer  into  the  employ  of  the  Na- 
tional Mutual.  His  name  was  Magee." 

"The  name — of  the  young  man  killed,  then — was 
Rooney?" 

Marshall  Treemon  asked  the  question  slowly. 

"Yes."  And  his  companion  regarded  him  with  evi- 
dent surprise.  "How  could  you  know  that?" 

"I  know  something  of  Magee — and  his  relations." 

"I  see — a  good  officer.  We  want  you  to  go  to  Wash- 
ington without  delay,"  said  Launcelot  Duffield,  returned 
to  the  topic  uppermost  in  his  mind.  "We  don't  want 
the  authorities  to  mistake  the  present  tone  of  the  coun- 
try for  a  tendency  towards  socialism.  The  unrest  is  due 
to  a  lack  of  knowledge  as  to  how  corporations  should  be 
run.  The  Sherman  law  makes  the  trouble  and  con- 
fuses everybody.  I  admit  that  public  service  corpora- 
tions ought  not  to  have  a  monopoly — but  all  effort  re- 
sults in  ownership,  which  is  a  species  of  monopoly.  We 
just  want  things  right." 

294 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Mr.  Little  fie  Id  now  came  from  the  cabin  with  his  wife 
and  Rose.  He  presented  Launcelot  Duffield,  who  bow- 
ed gravely,  but  Rose  saw  that  he  held  her  under  his  lids. 
She  was  pretty  in  the  salt  air,  and  shone  with  the 
triumph  of  her  latest  meeting. 

"Always  at  the  Sherman  law,"  laughed  Mr.  Little- 
field.  "It's  his  nightmare,  Treemon." 

"You  don't  like  it  any  better  than  I  do,"  retorted 
the  other. 

"That  is  true,"  said  Mr.  Littlefield,  good-natured  and 
deliberative  in  spirit  under  the  pleasure  of  the  coming 
of  his  wife.  "It  is  a  mistaken  effort  for  which  any  self- 
governing  people  may  be  pardoned.  We  are  not  suffi- 
ciently educated  as  yet  to  see  that  we  are  often  guided 
by  sentiment  when  we  think  we  are  exercising  wisdom. 
We  deal  with  effects,  not  causes,  all  through  our  social 
life.  When  a  fellow  gets  drunk  we  blame  the  liquor- 
seller.  When  an  official  is  bribed  we  blame  the  tempter 
— although  the  official  was  obligated  not  to  betray  his 
trust,  and  the  tempter  had  "ho  right  to  suppose  he  would 
and  was  under  no  pledge  not  to  mislead  him.  We  al- 
ways attach  strength  to  the  tempter  and  weakness  to 
those  that  yield;  and  while  logically  we  should  punish 
the  yielding,  we  elect  out  of  pity  to  execrate  the  tempt- 
er. This  obtains  all  through  society,  because  we  are 
all  weak,  and  life  is  a  long  temptation.  How  gladly 
we  would  punish  nature  if  we  could  and  exempt  our- 
selves!" 

Rose  Letcher  listened  eagerly,  and  Marshall  Treemon, 
knowing  her  prejudices  and  her  ability  to  defend  them, 
watched  her  with  a  smile.  She  was  early  enabled  to 
begin  an  estimate  of  her  uncle. 

"Fox  says  that  keeps  the  lawyers  busy,"  observed 
Launcelot  Duffield.  "We  punish  a  man  for  intending 
to  conspire  to  commit  an  act  that  is  never  done.  Such 
laws  are  all  of  a  piece.  A  fellow  gives  a  check  on  a 

295 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

bank  where  he  has  no  money;  we  accept  it  for  what  it 
says,  and  then  call  the  inconvenience  to  which  he  puts 
us  a  crime,  because  we  elect  not  to  take  time  to  look 
it  up  beforehand.  We  induce  the  offence  by  indolence 
and  save  our  indifference  by  condemning  him.  The 
Sherman  law  forbids  a  man  to  go  to  sleep  for  fear  he 
may  have  illegal  dreams.  The  Supreme  Court  says  so." 

"Scarcely  as  bad  as  that,"  observed  Marshall. 

"It  does — or  that's  how  it  strikes  a  common  man, 
who's  not  a  lawyer.  Read  the  famous  Securities  case 
— where  it  says  that  the  ability  to  commit  a  wrong, 
or  an  act  not  a  wrong,  constitutes  the  offence,  and  not 
the  act  done.  Argue  that  out  by  all  the  rules  of  daily 
life  with  which  you  are  familiar,  and  see  where  you  are 
led." 

"We  are  being  led  now  into  the  East  River,"  said  Mr. 
Littlefield,  looking  towards  the  great  bridge,  "and  we 
shall  land  about  Eighty-second  Street.  Where  do  you 
go,  Senator?" 

Marshall  Treemon  told  him,  thinking  of  Maggie 
Rooney,  now  that  the  city  was  before  him  and  he  was 
back  to  duty.  He  would  go  to  the  trust  company  to- 
morrow and  make  inquiries,  in  view  of  what  Launcelot 
Dufneld  had  told  him. 

"We  go  to  Washington  shortly,"  said  Mr.  Littlefield. 
"I  am  having  the  house  prepared  for  our  reception. 
Lady  Darrow,  with  some  relatives,  will  visit  us  there, 
and  we  shall  hope  to  see  something  of  you." 

"We  must  see  something  of  him  here  first,"  said 
Launcelot  Duffield. 

"Of  course."  And  Mr.  Littlefield  smiled.  "But  the 
Sherman  law  is  entirely  safe  until  Congress  meets,  and 
until  that  time  we  may  forget  it." 

"If  it  will  let  us,"  observed  Launcelot  Duffield,  dryly. 
"I  can  stand  it,  if  you  can." 

"Until  we  can  convince  the  country  as  to  its  meaning 
296 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

and  effect  we  are  all  criminals  together,"  said  Mr.  Little- 
field.     "Here  we  are." 

The  yacht  swung  slowly  about  and  churned  the  water 
with  its  screw,  while  the  sailors  hurried  forward  to 
anchor. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

POOR    MAGGIE 

DAN  MAGEE  had  carried  himself  away  from  "the  Cor- 
ners"; the  fruit- venders  and  Jewish  tradesmen  of  that 
vicinity  knew  him  no  longer.  Another  policeman  walk- 
ed his  beat  and  peered  up  at  the  balconies  out -jutting 
from  the  rows  of  buildings  along  the  narrow  streets. 
The  activities  and  energies  of  that  restless  neighborhood 
progressed  without  him.  Mat  Durgan  missed  him,  and 
was  sad.  Jane  Durgan  missed  him,  and  was  sympa- 
thetic, her  emotions  accented  when  his  mother  now 
passed  the  phonograph-store  on  her  way  to  the  bakery 
to  buy  the  evening  loaf.  The  old  lady  was  silent  and 
uncommunicative;  her  boy  had  gone  West.  The  West 
was  an  indefinite  place  to  them — a  vague  region  much 
larger  than  "the  Corners,"  filled  with  unknown  perils, 
peopled  by  strangers,  hostile  and  menacing;  and  this,  es- 
pecially to  ex-policemen  who  left  familiar  scenes  that 
knew  and  loved  them,  because  they  were  oppressed  with 
a  rooted  sorrow.  The  old  lady  was  not  resentful  of 
"  Forever  "  Maggie  in  speech  or  in  demeanor.  Evident- 
ly Dan  had  left  orders,  and  because  he  was  absent  she 
respected  his  grief  out  of  the  depths  of  her  own. 

And  Maggie  Rooney  missed  him,  but  she  did  not  say 
so.  Jane  Durgan  had  once  called  up  the  subject  short- 
ly after  his  going,  only  to  drop  it  without  delay.  Maggie's 
high  color  and  high  head  forbade  both  sympathy  and 
conversation.  But  that  she  was  both  hurt  and  grieved 
Jane  did  not  doubt ;  and  she  shook  her  head  with  gloomy 

298 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

forebodings  as  Maggie  went  by  in  company  with  Josiah 
Turtle,  laughing  with  an  unnatural  gayety  and  striving 
to  appear  unconcerned.  Jane  did  not  mistake  the  girl, 
or  her  heart;  and  she  pitied  her.  She  had  known  her 
too  long,  and  Mat  had  known  her  too  long,  for  either  to 
think  her  fickle  or  untrue.  The  geniality  of  her  nature 
had  warmed  them  both.  It  had  shone  upon  the  chil- 
dren in  the  streets  and  the  fruit-venders  at  their  carts, 
who  smiled  to  their  white  teeth  when  she  appeared,  ad- 
miring her  light  step  and  proud  bearing.  The  girl  was 
true,  but  something  was  the  matter;  and  Jane  believed 
that  she  hid  an  aching  heart  under  her  air  of  indifference 
and  her  assumed  content. 

Of  late  Josiah  Turtle  had  grown  more  insolent — had 
disclosed  something  of  himself  and  his  evil  nature ;  and 
Maggie  had  been  compelled  to  check  him.  She  knew 
her  power  over  him.  He  showed  it  in  every  movement 
of  his  cringing  devotion;  and  being  neither  wise  nor 
experienced,  she  used  it  with  the  caprice  of  a  woman. 
She  teased  him  and  laughed  at  him,  and  then  with  quick 
anger  met  his  own.  Under  his  sullen  looks  and  dog- 
ged manner  she  would  relent,  and  smile  with  him  when 
his  grin  of  satisfaction  attested  his  risen  spirits.  The 
girl  did  not  mistake  him.  He  was  coarse  and  wicked; 
but  she  did  not  fear  him.  She  knew  his  insincerity  with 
others,  but  endured  his  presence  and  his  flattery  be- 
cause she  was  lonely  and  he  persisted  in  staying  at  her 
side.  She  was  wilful,  with  the  thoughtlessness  of  a 
child,  and  out  of  the  goodness  of  her  heart  she  was  good 
to  him,  never  realizing  the  deadly  nature  behind  his 
heavy  features  and  frowning  brows.  Her  gentleness 
tempted  him,  her  beauty  inflamed  him;  her  sweet  voice, 
with  its  brogue,  and  her  kindly  tolerance,  stirred  the 
latent  beast  which  he  concealed  until  it  writhed,  and  his 
set  teeth  were  ground  against  the  tumult  that  boiled 
within  him.  She  was  rich,  in  his  view,  and  to  win  her 

299 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

was  to  achieve  the  ultimate  of  all  that  his  nature  could 
hope  for.  He  was  continually  about  her,  with  his  red 
tie  and  glittering  scarf-pin,  his  rakish  clothes  and  hat, 
his  sensual  eyes  upon  the  white  of  her  skin  and  the 
crimson  of  her  cheeks,  jovial  in  coarse  humor,  dark  in 
ill-temper,  but  surly  always,  and  as  dangerous  and  as 
treacherous  as  a  tiger.  Leisure  and  money,  with  a 
freedom  from  the  care  of  work,  had  greatly  refined  her, 
and  a  natural  taste  under  the  guidance  of  the  well-dis- 
posed Mrs.  Welloby  had  accented  her  better  dress  and 
bearing.  Avenue  A  approved  of  her  and  the  narrow 
streets  adored.  She  had  lost  nothing  of  her  kindliness. 
She  was  lavish  to  all  with  whom  she  came  in  contact, 
and  the  children  of  the  neighborhood  revelled  in  count- 
less pennies.  She  grieved  for  Blade,  but  her  youth  and 
spirits  subdued  her  mourning.  Following  Dan's  depart- 
ure she  had  gone  to  black  for  a  day,  but  pride  brought 
back  the  tossing  feather  and  the  jaunty  hat,  of  which 
Mrs.  Welloby  approved.  She  was  resentful  of  Dan's 
desertion,  as  she  deemed  it,  but  the  thought  that  he  had 
left  her  permanently  was  not  to  be  entertained;  she 
never  considered  it. 

As  the  days  passed  Josiah  Turtle  grew  impatient. 
She  shrank  quickly  from  the  touch  of  his  hand,  always 
rude  and  without  restraint,  and  such  a  familiarity  in- 
variably brought  a  rebuke  that  sent  him  to  the  dust, 
white  and  trembling.  He  raged  inwardly,  and  there 
were  times  when  he  could  have  killed  her.  Of  late  he 
had  begun  to  suspect  the  existence  of  something  that 
had  been  unknown  to  him.  Her  profound  and  simple 
integrity  was  dawning  gradually  upon  his  evil  under- 
standing; and  then  a  faint  realization  of  her  constancy 
crept  into  his  dark  soul.  She  loved  Dan  Magee,  and 
would  always  love  him.  He,  Josiah  Turtle,  was  en- 
dured merely.  When  this  became  apparent  the  beast 
in  him  went  mad. 

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PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Simple  natures  yield  too  readily  to  the  pressure  of 
events.  Dan  Magee  should  have  stayed  at  home. 
Pique  and  wounded  pride  are  the  pathetic  weaknesses 
of  children. 

Mat  Durgan  had  closed  his  store  early,  and  had  eaten 
a  quiet  supper  with  Jane  in  the  little  back  kitchen.  They 
had  planned  to  go  to  a  theatre  on  Third  Avenue,  a  place 
that  they  dearly  loved,  for  in  that  bright  spot,  just  be- 
yond the  echo  of  the  rumbling  trains  and  the  noise  of  the 
streets,  virtue  in  clinging  black  wept  nightly  under  the 
snow  that  fell  from  the  flies,  and  fainted  at  the  root  of  a 
forest  tree  where  a  background  of  bleak  country  receded 
between  two  painted  hills  on  the  shifting  canvas.  Here, 
virtue  was  duly  rescued  by  a  hero  who  lifted  it  to  his 
manly  breast,  bore  it  to  a  place  of  warmth  and  shelter, 
and  challenging  the  shining  stars,  swore  to  protect  it 
through  life;  and  as  virtue,  reassured,  looked  up  and 
wept  with  joy,  he  led  it  again  into  the  world  under  the 
protection  of  his  strong  right  arm,  crossing  chasms, 
defeating  robbers,  defying  death,  and  in  spite  of  tragedy, 
strategy,  forged  deeds,  stony-hearted  fathers,  false 
lawyers,  and  comic  clerks,  won  the  old  farm  and  the 
stately  homestead,  and  lived  in  conjugal  happiness  ever 
after.  Villany  was  always  foiled,  a  circumstance  which 
Jane  loudly  exalted,  and  she  and  Mat  cheered  in  unison 
when  the  village  constable  with  the  mob  behind  him,  or 
the  two  lofty  detectives  in  top-hats  and  gray  square- 
cut  coats,  bore  it  duly  handcuffed  off  the  stage  out  into 
the  back  alley,  from  whence  every  one  knew  it  would 
be  safely  lodged  in  the  Tombs  prison  on  its  way  to  a 
long  term  of  punishment  in  Sing  Sing.  The  villain  was 
always  foiled  at  an  hour  before  midnight,  which  gave 
them  time  to  get  comfortably  home,  to  exult  together 
that  a  consistent  drama  always  rounded  up  the  end  of 
the  world  so  beautifully. 

It  had  been  raining,  and  the  wind  blew  chilly  up  the 
301 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

narrow  streets  as  Mat  locked  his  store  and  they  stepped 
upon  the  sidewalk.  Jane  clung  to  him  closely  as  they 
avoided  the  puddles  in  the  blocks  of  the  pavement,  shin- 
ing under  the  flare  of  the  street  lights.  The  weather 
had  driven  the  usual  crowd  in-doors,  and  the  sky  above 
the  rows  of  houses  was  black  overhead.  But  their 
hearts  were  care  free  in  anticipation  of  the  pleasant 
evening,  and  they  chatted  gayly  as  they  picked  their 
way  through  the  drizzle  in  the  direction  of  the  theatre. 
Their  hero  did  not  fail  them;  at  the  appointed  hour  the 
villain  came  to  his  accustomed  grief.  In  alternate 
laughter  and  tears  they  followed  the  arduous  course 
of  Third  Avenue  love,  and  at  the  fall  of  the  curtain 
went  forth,  deep  in  the  satisfaction  of  virtue  saved. 
Through  the  wet  cross-streets  they  made  their  way  home- 
ward; the  rain  now  ceased,  and  a  thin  crescent  of  a  moon 
sailed  behind  ragged  clouds  that  led  a  vast  blackness 
behind  to  the  northeast.  They  neared  the  house  of 
"  Forever  "  Maggie,  and  stopped  for  an  instant  before  the 
door. 

"Why,  it's  ajar!"  said  Mat,  as  they  saw  a  thread  of 
light  shining  from  the  hall. 

"And  the  Wellobys'  place  is  dark — and  there's  no 
jet  burning  as  usual  in  old  man  Beechy's  room  up- 
stairs," said  Jane. 

They  stood  together  in  silence  for  a  moment,  op- 
pressed by  the  quiet  of  the  street  and  an  unusual  ab- 
sence of  either  sound  or  presence.  Then  they  mounted 
the  steps.  Mat  pushed  open  the  door  and  they  entered 
the  hall.  It  was  quiet  still,  the  gas  burning  from  a  box- 
light  pendent  from  the  ceiling.  The  atmosphere  was 
ominous  of  something,  the  shadows  on  the  stairway 
frightening  Jane  as  the  jet  flickered  with  the  draught 
which  the  opened  door  let  in.  They  did  not  know  why 
they  listened,  and  stood  looking  at  each  other  as  though 
afraid.  Then  a  sound  came  from  the  back  room,  and 

302 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Mat  started  forward  with  no  doubt  or  hesitation  in  his 
manner.  It  was  a  sigh,  or  groan,  followed  by  the  dull 
fall  of  a  body. 

Jane  suppressed  the  cry  upon  her  lips,  and  Mat,  grasp- 
ing the  knob  of  the  door,  pulled  it  open  quickly  and 
entered  the  chamber.  He  recoiled  against  Jane,  who 
pressed  after  him,  and  then  they  both  entered  and  stood 
aghast. 

Poor  Maggie!  "Forever"  Maggie,  who  was  forever 
faithful  and  forever  true!  The  pride  of  Avenue  A — the 
girl  of  the  children,  of  the  fruit  -  peddlers,  of  the  light 
steps,  and  the  light  heart!  Where  was  Dan  Magee,  who 
loved  her?  Where  was  Jacob  Roth,  rough,  rude,  but 
who  exulted  in  her  as  a  delight  of  his  own  type  and 
his  own  people  ?  Even  the  misguided  boy  whom  this 
man  had  led  to  his  death  might  weep  for  her  now! 

She  lay  half  fallen  upon  the  floor,  her  hair  dishevelled 
and  her  head  thrown  back  upon  the  sofa,  against  which 
she  partially  rested.  One  white  arm,  with  its  torn  sleeve, 
extended  along  the  couch,  while  the  other  was  limp 
upon  the  carpet.  Helpless  and  disordered,  with  pale 
face  and  closed  eyes,  her  senses  were  gone.  A  stream 
of  blood,  a  thin  line  of  scarlet,  extended  from  the  red 
of  her  lips — where  the  teeth  of  the  villain  had  pressed 
them — to  the  white  bosom  exposed  by  her  torn  garb. 
Her  sad  appearance  disclosed  the  unavailing  struggle 
she  had  made  before  she  had  lost  strength  and  conscious- 
ness. Two  glasses,  one  broken,  were  upon  the  table 
near  the  flask  of  wine  to  which  the  man  had  tempted 
her,  and  a  suggestive  vial  empty  of  its  liquor,  which 
Josiah  Turtle  had  neither  time  nor  cause  to  conceal,  lay 
in  telltale  proof  beside  them.  The  night  and  the  hour 
had  promised  success  and  safety.  But  the  villain's  rage 
had  made  him  careless  of  all  but  success.  And  now,  with 
his  crime  before  him,  and  his  own  flushed  features  and 
craven  eyes  shrinking  away,  all  was  told  to  the  two 

303 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

stupefied  and  horror-stricken  intruders  who  came  so 
unexpectedly  upon  the  scene. 

"She's  fainted,"  said  Josiah  Turtle,  looking  at  them 
with  an  effort  at  a  foolish  smile.  "We  drank  too 
much,  I  guess;  but  the  girl's  to  marry  me,  you  know — 
that's  it." 

The  East  Side  has  its  morals,  its  code,  and  that  rude 
chivalry  that  is  deep  in  the  human  breast.  The  annals 
of  Third  Avenue  record  them  nightly.  A  panther  never 
leaped  upon  its  prey  with  the  rush  with  which  Mat  Dur- 
gan  cast  himself  at  the  trembling  wretch  who  strove 
vainly  to  press  him  off,  the  wiry  fingers  of  one  hand 
tightening  about  his  bull  throat  while  the  clinched  fist 
of  the  other  beat  him  down.  Jane  Durgan  went  with 
her  husband.  The  Irish  woman  fought  also,  careless 
of  the  waving  arms,  now  frightened  and  frenzied.  The 
assault  was  as  brief  as  it  was  resistless.  Mat  pushed 
his  wife  aside,  and  kicked  the  fallen  scoundrel  pitilessly 
against  the  wainscoting  of  the  wall. 

"Help  Maggie!"  he  gasped,  breathlessly.  "I  hope 
we've  killed  this  beast." 

"You've  done  it,"  groaned  Josiah,  rising  to  his  elbow. 

Mat  Durgan  kicked  him  down  again,  and  he  lay 
trembling  and  prostrate,  his  eyes  rolling  wildly  in  his 
head. 

"Go  for  the  doctor,  Jane,"  said  Mat,  now  aiding  his 
wife,  who  was  striving  to  lift  the  girl  to  the  couch. 

With  another  effort  Josiah  Turtle  lifted  himself  again 
to  his  elbow. 

"Do  you  want  to  publish  this  through  ' the  Corners '  ?" 
he  asked.  "Didn't  I  say  I'd  marry  her?  I'll  do  it  yet, 
and  to-morrow  if  she'll  say  the  word." 

Mat  turned  once  more  upon  him,  savagely,  but  Jane 
stopped  him  quickly. 

"Wait,  Mat,"  she  said.  " Her  eyes  are  opening.  Let 
her  speak  first,  the  poor  dear!" 

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PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

He  shook  off  her  arm  and  held  himself  back,  shaking 
with  fury. 

"Get  out!"  he  said,  as  Josiah  Turtle  rose  slowly  to  his 
feet,  staggering  weakly  against  the  wall.  "Go!"  he  con- 
tinued, holding  himself  with  a  continued  effort,  his  thin 
face  sharp  and  pale.  "If  you  are  here  to-morrow,  no 
matter  if  it's  published  to  all  New  York,  I'll  go  to  the 
District  Attorney's  office,  and  I'll  take  Maggie  and  Jane 
to  the  Grand  Jury.  I  don't  know  if  you'll  live  so  long. 
The  policemen  would  beat  you  to  death  with  their  clubs 
in  the  station-house.  Do  you  think  Dan  Magee  has  no 
friends,  you  devil  of  Purgatory?  Do  you  think  I 
couldn't  get  the  Italians  to  cut  you  into  piecemeal,  and 
they  not  fearing  what  would  happen  after?  I'd  kill 
you  now,  you  beast,  if  I  hadn't  the  need  of  a  second 
thought.  You've  got  till  to-morrow  to  leave.  If  you're 
here  after,  I'll  not  think  at  all." 

Ruffian  that  he  was,  Josiah  Turtle  shrank  from  the 
white  passion  that  confronted  him.  His  shifty  eyes 
could  fix  on  nothing.  The  fumes  of  liquor  were  in  his 
brain,  and  he  was  giddy  under  the  shock  of  the  blows 
that  had  been  showered  on  him.  Abject,  shaken,  un- 
steady, and  bleeding,  he  passed  through  the  door  and 
reeled  into  the  hall. 

For  an  instant  Mat  Durgan  stood  motionless,  with 
clinched  fists,  striving  to  hold  himself  together.  Then 
he  leaped  after  the  departing  wretch,  catching  him  at 
the  front  door,  kicking  him  down  the  steps  and  into  the 
street. 

They  called  no  doctor.  They  were  used  to  sad 
emergencies.  Very  tenderly  Jane  ministered  to  her 
helpless  charge,  pulling  her  head  upon  her  breast,  her 
lips  soft  with  Irish  words  of  endearment. 

The  rain,  falling  again  outside,  beat  upon  the  walls 
with  a  sullen  roar. 

When  Maggie  returned  again  to  life  and  consciousness 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

the  two  watchers  were  beside  the  bed  to  which  they  had 
borne  her  and  the  gray  dawn  was  coming  dimly  through 
the  windows. 

The  girl  upon  the  upper  floor  was  not  disturbed,  and 
the  nurse  for  old  man  Beechy  slept  peacefully  in  a 
chamber  behind  his  own.  When  the  milk-carts  rattled 
along  Avenue  A,  and  the  morning  resumed  the  clatter 
and  noise  of  the  day,  Mat  Durgan  went  for  Father 
O'Grady  and  a  doctor,  but  not  for  "  Forever  "  Maggie. 
The  nurse  had  come  down-stairs  to  find  her  sleeping  upon 
her  pillow,  surprised  at  the  watchers  by  her  bed.  They 
told  her  only  that  they  had  stopped  by  on  their  way 
from  the  theatre,  and  found  her  mistress  ill.  But  the 
nurse  had  something  upon  her  mind  which  drove  all 
curiosity  away.  Her  own  charge  was  quiet  upon  his 
pillow — but  that  part  of  him  which  troubled,  and  was 
debased  and  unfortunate,  had  gone  forth  into  the  night 
and  the  rain,  amid  the  clouds  that  hid  the  crescent 
moon.  Old  man  Beechy  was  dead. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

AT   THE    CAPITAL 

THERE  are  few  pauses  in  the  lives  of  the  magnates  of 
the  chief  city  of  America.  There  are  hours  for  ban- 
quets, there  are  moments  for  tennis  and  golf,  and  a 
limited  period  upon  broad  piazzas  and  trimmed  and 
shaded  lawns;  they  dance  and  laugh  as  common  mor- 
tals in  the  seeming  enjoyment  of  the  wealth  that  is  sup- 
posed to  bring  happiness,  but  always,  whatever  ball 
they  strike,  they  see  in  its  flight  and  decline  the  rise 
and  fall  of  stocks. 

So  there  was  but  a  short  pause  for  the  Littlefields  in 
New  York  following  the  return  of  the  aunt  and  niece 
from  Europe.  They  went  to  their  house  in  Washington. 
Rose  Letcher  was  indifferent  as  to  this.  She  did  not 
seek  her  humble  acquaintances  on  the  East  Side,  nor 
inform  any  of  her  return  to  America.  She  saw  little 
profit  in  the  renewal  of  associations  that  at  most  must 
be  broken  shortly.  She  had  liked  the  Professor,  the  Dur- 
gans,  and  she  sincerely  loved  "Forever"  Maggie;  but 
at  present  they  were  not  greatly  in  her  mind.  The  fig- 
ure of  Marshall  Treemon  loomed  large  there,  and  it  now 
entered  as  largely  into  her  plans.  She  thought  of  him 
with  a  constantly  growing  interest,  and  always,  in  this 
connection,  her  memory  touched  that  vital  and  absorb- 
ing incident  of  her  girlhood  which  it  must  be  her  duty 
henceforth  to  so  jealously  conceal.  Always  it  had  been 
a  matter  of  her  own,  and  since  she  had  begun  anew,  and 
the  past  was  dead,  why  let  it  prove  an  impediment  to 

307 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

her  happiness  ?  Within  herself  she  had  settled  with  her- 
self. Its  sin  or  guilt  had  long  since  ceased  to  trouble 
her.  She  had  no  emotion  relating  to  either  remorse  or 
shame.  Her  health  was  good,  her  mind  clear,  and  she 
felt  herself  strong  beyond  other  women.  So  believing, 
Rose  Letcher  was  unlikely  to  be  the  victim  of  any 
trivial  or  ill-considered  sentiment.  She  might  yet  ex- 
perience a  deep  and  profound  passion,  but  it  would  be 
•a  process  of  growth,  and  come  from  continued  intimacy 
and  a  constant  and  earnest  association  with  its  object. 
Any  other  consideration  that  related  to  a  man  would  be 
a  matter  of  pride  and  calculation. 

She  so  regarded  Marshall  Treemon,  and  was  formid- 
able in  consequence.  Warm-hearted,  warm-blooded, 
and  with  newly  awakened  and  varying  emotions,  he 
was  unconsciously  susceptible.  He  would  chill  or  in- 
toxicate as  the  winds  blew.  Dreaming  of  Victoria 
Wemyss  in  the  still  hours  of  the  night  and  rising  to 
harassing  doubt,  Rose  Letcher's  was  a  nature  for  him 
to  rest  upon.  He  was  also  in  Washington,  and  she  saw 
him  daily. 

But  a  week  later  Lady  Darrow  with  Victoria  and  Cap- 
tain Travers  landed  in  New  York,  and  prepared  at  once 
for  their  visit  to  her  aunt. 

It  was  now  that  Rose  faced  another  crisis,  for  which, 
in  a  degree,  she  had  made  ready.  She  did  not  reason 
as  to  why  Captain  Travers  had  accepted  the  invitation 
extended  to  him.  Except  for  herself,  there  was  nothing 
for  speculation.  The  English  Embassy  residence  would 
eventually  engulf  them  all,  but  the  great  Littlefield  house 
had  insisted  upon  their  first  coming  to  it;  and  since 
Lady  Darrow  and  Victoria  were  to  do  so,  he  came  with 
them. 

At  first  Rose  could  attribute  it  to  nothing  but  hardi- 
hood and  a  desperate  determination  to  awe  their  com- 
mon nightmare  by  confronting  it.  Then  she  recalled 

308 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

her  own  successful  daring  of  which  he  had  heard,  and 
which  he  might  merely  seek  to  emulate.  This  was  her 
most  reasonable  theory;  and  if  he  was  bold,  she  could 
be.  Perhaps  he  saw  in  her  conduct  her  submission  to 
silence,  and  would  show  her  that  he  acquiesced.  What- 
ever his  motive,  she  would  meet  it. 

As  usual,  her  reasoning  was  sound.  Captain  Travers 
had  not  her  subtlety,  but  he  did  not  lack  common-sense. 
He  had  grown,  in  all  respects,  since  the  days  when  the 
elder  Letcher  woman  had  so  signally  failed  in  her  duties 
as  an  English  mother. 

The  expected  guests  came,  and  the  embarrassment 
of  the  two  most  interested  persons  was  covered  for  a 
moment  by  the  confusion  incident  to  the  arrival.  Lord 
Wemyss,  the  ambassador,  came  with  them,  and  his  august 
presence  enveloped  the  situation  comfortably  and  hap- 
pily. But  in  spite  of  himself,  Captain  Travers  turned 
pale  and  gasped  at  the  sight  of  the  woman  who  had  bsen 
a  spectre  to  his  memory  and  his  conscience.  His  stutter 
was  more  pronounced  and  his  awkwardness  more  appar- 
ent, at  which  his  uncle,  the  ambassador,  jeered. 

When  the  carriages  were  gone  and  the  curtains  of  the 
large  drawing-room  had  shut  out  the  attending  servants, 
the  restraint  and  formality  dissolved  in  the  chatter  of 
greeting.  Lady  Darrow  and  Captain  Travers  were  both 
bewildered  by  their  new  experience,  the  novelty  of 
New  York,  its  strange  clatter  and  bustle,  the  unfamiliar 
buildings  and  singular  scenes;  the  wholesome  presence 
of  Mrs.  Littlefield  was  a  relief  to  them.  The  dignity  of 
Lord  Wemyss  melted,  and  as  they  all  relaxed  in  a  cho- 
rus of  words  the  two  people  to  whom  the  situation  was 
tense,  drawn  slowly  together  by  a  common  fascination, 
looked  covertly  at  each  other  from  shaded  eyes,  and 
then  drifted  in  company  down  the  great  chamber  to 
try  out  the  dreaded  moment  of  contact,  and  by  impres- 
sion, not  words,  make  up  the  compact  of  peace. 

3°9 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

It  was  easier  than  they  had  expected,  not  because  of 
Captain  Travers,  but  because  of  Rose.  The  superior 
woman  was  mistress  of  the  instant. 

In  the  embrasure  of  a  tall  window,  half  sheltered  by 
the  heavy  curtains,  they  stood  quietly,  he  with  a  flut- 
tering and  uncertain  heart. 

"Your  first  visit  to  America,  Captain  Travers?" 

Her  cool  tones  made  him  start.  He  was  unable  to 
meet  the  calm  glance  that  shone  steadily  from  the  keen 
black  eyes.  His  own  shifted,  wandered,  and  his  words 
stuck  in  his  throat. 

"Ah— yes." 

"It  is  impressive  to  a  stranger — particularly  an  Eng- 
lish stranger." 

"Aw— yes." 

She  laughed — a  bright,  clear  peal  that  startled  him  again. 

"How  naturally  you  say  it.  You  are  changed,  Cap- 
tain Travers,  since  as  a  young  and  bold  dragoon  with 
sword  and  plume  you  rode  into  the  life  of  the  poor  little 
girl  at  Bath." 

He  found  voice  now.  He  came  to  himself.  He  swore, 
under  his  breath,  and  looked  at  her  with  eyes  of  ad- 
miration. 

"Yes,  in  years."  And  he  repeated  the  oath.  "But 
I'm  the  same  cad — with  only  a  little  experience  and 
sense  on  top  of  the  time  gone  by,  you  know.  I  won't 
ask  for  forgiveness — and  all  that.  Things  have  straight- 
ened up,  without  our  help.  I  only  want  you  to  know 
that  I  will  protect  you." 

"Again?"  and  the  sarcasm  rang.  "But  it's  mutual, 
you  know."  The  black  eyes  never  fell. 

"Is  it?  By — "  and  he  choked  again.  "I  admit  that 
I  was  a  bounder,  Rose;  but  your  presence  inspires  a 
man.  By  Jove,  you  are  superb!" 

Her  laugh  rang  once  more,  and  her  searching  gaze 
covered  him  from  head  to  foot, 

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PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"It's  like  the  ringing  of  an  old  bell,  or  the  blowing  of 
an  old  breeze,  as  Uriah  Keep  said.  Are  you  growing 
winsome  again,  Captain  Travers?" 

His  eyes  no  longer  fell.  He  looked  steadily  before 
him  at  the  figures  that,  under  a  fire  of  words,  left  them 
unnoticed. 

"You  are  deucedly  fine,"  he  murmured.  "Old  Little- 
field  is  rich,  they  say — very  rich.  I  don't  say  that  in 
any  improper  sense,  or  speak  of  him  in  any  improper 
sense,  you  know.  I  wouldn't,  to  you.  Mrs.  Littlefield 
— your  aunt — she's  a  fine  woman,  too.  A  deuced  fine 
woman!" 

"Which  means?" 

"Which  means,"  he  said,  recovering  himself  under  her 
manner,  "that  I'm  glad  for  you.  It  lets  you  out  of  it, 
you  know,  and  makes  your  life — and  all  that.  I  had 
no  part  in  it — only  a  cur's  part,  that  ran  away  from  the 
hunt.  But  I'll  ask  you  to  forgive  me,  now.  I  was 
scared  when  I  heard  you  were  coming  to  England  as 
Littlefield 's  connection  —  I  confess  it.  But  when  that 
fool  Paget  kept  running  back  and  forth  with  news  of 
you — when  Sir  William  told  me  of  you,  following  my 
aunt's  reception — I  couldn't  help  remembering  you — and 
it's  stuck  to  me  ever  since.  Now  that  I  see  you,  I  know 
it  will  be  worse.  I  say,  Rose — honest — let's  be  friends." 

His  manner  was  earnest  now,  and  in  spite  of  herself 
her  cheeks  flushed.  She  resented  the  moment  of  emo- 
tion which  his  demeanor  evoked,  an  impulse  that  stirred 
within  her,  so  entirely  foreign  to  any  feeling  with  which 
she  had  regarded  him  or  thought  to  regard  him. 

"I'm  not  straight,"  he  went  on.  "I'm  nothing.  I 
haven't  any  character  of  any  kind.  I'm  a  man — who 
has  floated  with  the  tide;  and  to  come  up  against  a 
scene  like  this,  you  know,  takes  me  out  of  myself.  I 
swear  I'm  helpless  under  it,  and  don't  know  how  I  feel. 
I  only  know  that  on  the  minute  I  am  honest." 

3" 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"Do  you  think  that  you  can  remain  so?  Do  you 
think  you  have  a  drop  of  blood  in  your  veins  that  will 
keep  that  sentiment  when  you  have  left  me  ?" 

He  shook  himself  as  one  who  awakened  from  a  trance. 
Her  force  and  passion,  suppressed  to  a  fierce  whisper, 
vitalized  him,  as  she  continued: 

"Friends?     With  you?" 

"Why  not,  my  girl?" 

The  Englishman  in  him  spoke,  and  he  rose  over  the 
woman.  With  fear  gone,  he  remembered. 

"Why  not?"  he  repeated.  "What  good  will  it  do  if 
you  hate  me,  or  where  can  we  make  trouble  for  each 
other  ?  By  Jove !  I  say,  you  are  splendid!  Sir  William 
would  say  it,  and  he  did.  After  my  aunt's  reception, 
as  I  tell  you,  he  came  back  to  me  in  a  state  of  stupor; 
and  he  has  not  recovered  from  it  yet.  And  I  repeat, 
now  that  I  see  you,  I'm  bewildered  myself.  I'm  dumb 
hereafter,  whatever  happens;  and  you  have  evidently  de- 
termined not  to  spend  your  life  in  thinking  about  me. 
I  was  a  poor  beggar,  and  am  yet,  after  a  fashion — and 
you  have  somehow  become  a  bright  woman  that  doesn't 
need  a  backer.  By  Jove!  but  it's,  a  marvel!" 

He  looked  better,  and,  think  as  she  would,  she  could 
no  longer  find  within  herself  either  anger  or  scorn.  He 
did  not  grate  on  her,  and  in  this  humor  he  was  again  the 
man  whom  her  girlhood  fancy  had  exalted.  The  very 
rudeness  and  awkwardness  of  his  nature  met  the  temper 
of  hers.  Disdain  went  from  her  smile. 

"Let's  put  the  question  of  friendship  in  abeyance," 
she  replied,  slowly,  her  hard  eyes  softening.  "We  have 
reached  a  plane  of  equanimity,  at  all  events.  Your 
mention  of  Sir  William  Dawn  was  not  happy,  but  I 
am  not  critical  at  this  moment.'-' 

"Thank  you,"  he  said.  "Sir  William — why,  he  wor- 
ships the  ground  Lady  Darrow  walks  on,  and  by  force 
of  habit  he  is  sincere  with  me.  Our  interests  are  his  in- 

312 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

terests,  and  if  he  could  have  an  opportunity  he  would 
positively  love  you,  you  know.  Really,  Rose,  a  woman 
like  you  could  make  a  man  crawl  on  all-fours." 

His  memory,  his  surprise,  which  was  almost  conster- 
nation, and  the  abject  admiration  which  he  evinced, 
and  which  she  saw  was  sincere,  fell  upon  her  spirit,  in 
view  of  the  past,  like  balm  upon  a  wound.  Flattery 
was  difficult  with  such  a  woman;  but  coming  in  such 
a  guise  it  was  effective.  She  thawed  under  it  visibly, 
and  it  encouraged  him. 

There  was  a  lull  in  the  voices  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room.  The  group  rose  to  welcome  a  caller  who  was 
ushered  in  from  the  hall. 

"Senator  Treemon,"  said  Rose. 

"Yes,"  said  Captain  Travers.  "The  American  fel- 
low. He  visited,  down  at  the  Towers.  You  came  over 
on  the  steamer  with  him,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes;  and  went  over  with  him,  too.  Shall  we  join 
them  now?" 

"Wait  a  bit,"  and  Captain  Travers  hung  back,  re- 
garding her  for  a  moment,  and  then  looking  towards 
Marshall  Treemon.  "He's  speaking  to  Vic.  I  don't 
think  I  like  him,  you  know,  nor  does  he  like  me." 

"We  are  not  necessarily  to  devote  ourselves  to  him. 
But  why  should  you  like  him?  He  is  so  entirely  differ- 
ent from  you." 

"Perhaps,"  he  responded;  "but,  after  all,  that  isn't 
greatly  against  him.  I'm  in  the  beggar's  country,  too, 
you  know,  and  impressions  change  quickly.  If  I  could 
understand  a  fellow  like  that,  he  might  do  better  with 
me." 

"It  never  occurred  to  you  to  do  better  with  him,"  she 
laughed.  "Never  mind;  that's  one  of  your  merits." 

He  looked  at  her  doubtfully. 

"You  are  in  his  country,  as  you  say,"  she  went  on, 
"and  he  is  influential  here.  He  may  make  it  pleasant 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

for  you.  Try  a  little  joviality.  You  used  to  have  it  in 
you." 

"By  Jove!  Now  that's  good  of  you,  Rose,"  he  said. 
"Why,  I'll  shake  both  the  beggar's  hands,  if  you  say 
so." 

Marshall  Treemon  now  saw  them,  and  as  they  came 
forward  met  them  cordially. 

"Welcome,  Captain  Travers,"  he  said.  "You  have 
made  good  your  promise  to  visit  us.  I  shall  be  pleased 
if  in  some  manner  I  can  be  of  service  to  you." 

"You  Americans  —  aw  —  know  how  to  do  that  sort 
of  thing,  Senator  Treemon,"  he  replied.  "It's  deuced 
strange,  considering  that  you  are  a  side  issue,  that  you 
excel  the  home  people  in  this.  But  you  do — Jove,  it's 
noticeable.  I'm  grateful." 

"You  are  in  excellent  custody  already,  Captain,"  said 
Marshall  Treemon,  shaking  hands  with  Rose.  "I  can 
only  aid,  in  these  premises." 

He  turned  again  towards  the  spot  where  Victoria 
stood,  and  Captain  Travers  hung  back  once  more. 

"I  say,  Rose,"  he  whispered,  quickly,  "remember 
what  I  said  to  you — let's  be  friends." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

A     TOUCH     OF     PITY 

To  his  infinite  surprise  Captain  Travers  found  Wash- 
ington very  much  to  his  taste.  He  was  not  a  stranger 
in  the  world.  Like  most  Englishmen  of  his  class,  he 
had  travelled,  and  Paris,  Rome,  Vienna,  Berlin,  and 
St.  Petersburg  were  familiar  cities.  But  they  suggested 
nothing  to  him  of  this  foliage -embowered,  ornate,  dec- 
orated collection  of  palaces  set  against  wide  spaces  of 
asphalt  and  seemingly  dedicated  to  a  tranquillity  and 
pleasure  that  regarded  time  as  nothing  and  let  the 
sunny  autumn  days  come  as  they  would.  There  was 
an  evidence  of  wealth  here  also,  as  wealth  had  been 
apparent  in  New  York;  and  he  wondered  how  much 
Colby  Little  field  represented  of  it,  and  if  the  rumor  was 
true  that  he  could  buy  the  Bank  of  England.  Marshall 
Treemon,  in  keeping  with  his  words,  had  sought  to  be 
polite  to  him,  but  had  been  called  again  to  New  York. 
Captain  Travers  was  not  sorry.  In  view  of  his  own 
present  relationship  to  both  Victoria  and  Rose,  the 
"American  fellow"  was  the  only  person  likely  to  inter- 
fere with  him.  And  such  an  interference  could  be  mere- 
ly an  inconvenience,  because  he  was,  as  Captain  Travers 
thought,  on  only  polite  social  terms  with  them.  Again, 
at  the  German  and  Italian  legations,  Captain  Travers 
had  met  some  old  acquaintances  in  the  persons  of  the 
military  attache's,  and  they  had  introduced  him  to  the 
Officers'  Club.  Here  he  was  something  more  than  at 
home.  The  deference  paid  to  his  soldierly  position, 

3*5 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

and  the  prestige  of  his  contingent  rank,  flattered  him 
into  a  constant  good-humor.  He  began  to  wonder  at 
the  neglect  of  such  a  country  on  the  part  of  his  home 
people.  Damme,  they  were  of  British  origin,  and  very 
nearly  spoke  his  language!  He  beamed  on  the  Little- 
field  household  with  such  a  bland  and  persistent  con- 
tent that  even  the  great  Colby  began  to  regard  him 
with  eyes  less  pointed  and  frequently  forgot  his  in- 
ward smile.  Much  could  not  be  made  of  him  as  an 
American,  but  he  might  lead  a  British  troop  success- 
fully; and  a  man  who  could  honor  his  calling,  whatever 
it  might  be,  was  entitled  to  the  respect  of  any  American 
financier.  Lady  Darrow  was  delighted  with  the  im- 
pression which  he  had  made,  and  said  as  much  to  Vic- 
toria. She  was  generally  delighted  with  her  visit,  and, 
like  Captain  Travers,  admired  Washington  with  en- 
thusiasm. Victoria  had  had  her  rhapsody  on  her  first 
visit,  and  this  was  her  reflective  period.  Her  cousin 
had  been  ardent  during  the  voyage,  but  he  did  not 
trouble  her  now.  She  was  busy  renewing  former  ac- 
quaintances; and  in  company  with  her  aunt,  Mrs. 
Little  fie  Id,  and  Rose,  she  found  her  social  engagements 
sufficient  to  keep  her  constantly  occupied.  So,  of  Rose 
Letcher  Captain  Travers  saw  little.  They  met  occa- 
sionally at  the  table,  and  at  intervals  as,  in  company 
with  others,  she  passed  through  the  hall  to  a  carriage 
or  automobile.  He  knew  that  upon  each  occasion  she 
observed  him,  and  his  watch  upon  her  was  constant; 
but  their  intercourse  was  a  simple  exchange  of  courtesies. 
She  held  for  him  a  singular  and  growing  fascination. 
Her  graceful  form,  her  brilliant  hair  and  eyes,  her  dark 
countenance  flushed  with  conscious  power,  and  her  con- 
versation, heard  with  others — that  constantly  charmed 
them — kept  him  in  a  sort  of  pleasurable  state,  the  sig- 
nificance of  which  he  did  not  know.  But  he  did  know 
that  he  had  never  been  so  at  peace  with  himself. 

316 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"By  Jove! "he  had  said.  "If  I  were  a  hasheesh-eater 
I'd  say  I  was  always  under  its  influence.  It  must  be  the 
deuced  climate!" 

Victoria  had  seen  little  of  Marshall  Treemon  since  her 
return  to  America.  She  had  seen  little  of  him  at  Wash- 
ington. She  knew  of  his  return  to  New  York,  but  she 
understood  that  he  would  not  be  long  away.  But  she 
thought  of  him  much,  and  she  thought  of  him  in  the 
same  spirit  of  doubt  and  uncertainty.  In  this  respect 
she  made  no  progress  with  herself.  She  had  surrendered 
him,  and  she  believed  that  he  had  surrendered  her,  but 
her  conclusions  brought  neither  comfort  nor  tranquillity. 
Something  that  Mrs.  Littlefield  had  said,  a  mere  hint, 
turned  her  thoughts  in  a  new  channel.  Rose  Letcher 
came,  therefore,  to  hold  for  her  a  new  and  significant 
interest.  Like  the  others,  she  had  fallen  under  the 
spell  of  the  magnetic  personality  with  which  she  had 
been  brought  in  contact,  and  her  association  with  Rose 
Letcher  was  beginning  to  verge  upon  intimacy.  Rose 
fostered  this,  and  meeting  the  advances  of  the  girl  with 
gentleness,  she  was  winning,  sympathetic,  and  tolerant. 
Victoria  had  not  unbent  too  readily.  She  could  not  be 
condescending  to  one  as  strong  and  confident  as  Rose 
Letcher;  but  she  could  be  reserved.  This  she  had  been, 
until  they  were  so  much  in  each  other's  company  that 
formality  left  them.  Rose  was  her  elder  by  some  eleven 
years,  and  twice  seven  in  experience  and  worldly  knowl- 
edge; to  this  and  to  her  gentler  tendencies  Victoria 
yielded,  and  they  became  friends.  She  envied  Rose  her 
freedom  and  independence,  but  she  could  be  generous 
as  well.  It  was  not  for  every  woman  to  realize  the 
dream  that  would  gild  life.  Her  own  lot  was  made  for 
her,  and  she  must  be  resigned. 

One  morning,  when  her  aunt  and  Mrs.  Littlefield  had 
gone  for  a  drive,  Rose  Letcher  entered  her  apartment 
carrying  in  her  hand  an  open  letter.  Victoria  was  sur- 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

prised  at  the  expression  of  her  face.  Her  eyes  bore 
traces  of  recent  tears,  and  grief  and  consternation  were 
so  apparent  that  Victoria  started  from  her  seat,  agitated 
and  fearful. 

"Forgive  me,  please,"  said  Rose,  with  an  impulsive- 
ness that  was  strange  to  her.  "I  just  must  speak  to 
some  one.  I  have  some  bad  news." 

Victoria's  surprise  increased,  and  with  it  her  excite- 
ment and  alarm. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Rose,  subduing  her  manner.  "It 
is  nothing  that  relates  to  us — that  is,  to  you.  I  have  a 
friend,  a  poor  girl  whom  I  knew  in  New  York,  who  is 
in  trouble.  Her  name  is  Maggie  Rooney,  a  simple 
creature,  but  with  a  heart  of  gold.  She  is  so  sincere  and 
true  that  her  sorrow  appeals  to  me  more  than  I  can 
find  words  to  tell  you.  Senator  Treemon  returned  last 
night  and  sent  over  a  letter.  It  is  here — you  may  read 
it." 

Victoria  took  it,  moved  by  Rose's  continued  agita- 
tion, her  ready  sympathy  suffusing  her  heart. 

"Maggie  is  a  ward  of  Senator  ^Treemon,"  continued 
Rose.  "He  says  that  the  poor  child  wishes  to  leave 
the  city.  She  might  well  wish  to  fly  anywhere,  poor 
thing!  He  mentioned  me,  and  my  aunt,  and  Maggie 
seized  upon  the  idea  so  fixedly  that  he  begs  to  have  her 
come  down  here — beseeches  me,  in  the  name  of  pity, 
to  find  the  time  to  be  her  friend  and  comforter.  Of 
course  it's  the  duty  of  a  woman — my  duty,  as  I  see  it, 
and  I  need  no  urging.  My  aunt  will  surely  consent — 
she  is  so  good  and  kind." 

"If  you  mean  that  Mrs.  Littlefield  is  good  and  kind, 
that  is  true,"  said  Victoria,  in  a  shocked  voice,  as  she 
returned  the  letter.  "I  couldn't  find  the  heart  myself 
to  refuse  such  an  appeal,  if  there  was  any  cause  to  grant 
it — if  I  knew  her,  the  girl,  and  she  should  so  write  to 
me.  Speak  to  your  aunt,  surely,  and  if  I  can  do  any- 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

thing — if  any  sympathy  of  mine  will  help  you — I  will 
give  it.  Poor,  poor  creature!" 

"I  knew  you  would  say  so,"  said  Rose,  her  eyes  now 
fixed  and  staring.  "Heavens  above!  that  such  a  lot 
should  be  Maggie's !  I  never  realized  until  now  how 
truly  fond  I  was  of  her,  and  my  heart  aches.  Poor  dear! 
The  loss  of  her  uncle  does  not  mean  much;  and  the 
loss  of  her  brother  is  something  that  could  affect  her 
only — but —  Yes ;  I  am  sure  it  is  my  duty  either  to  go 
to  her  or  have  her  come." 

Mrs.  Littlefield  and  Lady  Darrow  now  entered  the 
room,  returning  from  their  ride  in  high  spirits.  They 
stopped  instantly,  and  in  affright,  at  the  countenances 
which  the  two  girls  turned  to  them. 

Rose  hastened  to  show  her  aunt  the  letter,  supple- 
menting it  with  a  statement  of  Marshall  Treemon's  re- 
quest. 

"You  can  see,  my  dear  aunt,"  she  said,  "that  it  is 
at  least  my  duty  to  go  to  her." 

"I  see  that  you  can  have  her  come  here,  and  at 
once,"  said  Mrs.  Littlefield,  in  alarm.  "This  house  is 
surely  big  enough;  and  we  will  relieve  you  for  all  the 
attention  your  poor  friend  will  require.  Yes,  and  help 
you,  too." 

The  good  lady  sat  down,  looking  again  at  the  letter, 
and  then  at  Lady  Darrow,  who  had  heard  it  all  with  the 
same  pity  and  sympathy  that  had  moved  the  others. 

"Senator  Treemon  stated  in  his  note  that  he  had  ex- 
plained to  Maggie  my  new  relationship,  although  the 
poor  girl  can  scarcely  know  what  it  means,"  said  Rose. 
"She's  a  simple  creature — in  the  nature  of  a  dependent 
— but  I  feel  for  her  the  more  deeply." 

"I'll  take  charge  of  the  matter,"  said  Mrs.  Littlefield, 
resolutely.  "  I  will  send  for  Senator  Treemon.  Of  course 
his  ward  can  come  here ;  and  of  course  you  may  give  her 
all  the  care  and  attention  she  needs." 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"It  is  a  matter  for  us  all,"  said  Lady  Darrow.  "Do 
let  me  help  you,  dear  Mrs.  Littlefield  ?" 

"You  are  very  kind,"  said  Rose,  looking  at  her 
earnestly. 

"My  poor  child,"  said  Lady  Darrow,  kissing  her, 
"it  is  a  poor  womanhood  that  is  devoid  of  pity.  Let 
me  know  when  your  poor  friend  comes.  We  will  com- 
fort her  together. 

Rose  and  Mrs.  Littlefield  left  the  room,  Mrs.  Little- 
field  to  call  up  Marshall  Treemon  on  the  telephone. 

No  delay  waited  upon  the  decision  reached,  or  hung 
about  the  doing  of  things  in  the  household  of  Colby 
Littlefield.  On  the  following  afternoon  Maggie  arrived 
at  the  Pennsylvania  Station,  accompanied  by  Mat  Dur- 
gan.  Rose  Letcher  met  them  in  the  Littlefield  carriage. 
Mat  refused  the  entertainment  which  Mrs.  Littlefield 
authorized  her  niece  to  proffer.  He  was  glad  to  see 
Rose  Letcher,  as  Maggie  went  tearfully  to  her  arms,  but 
he  would  shift  for  himself.  He  would  see  Washington 
for  a  few  days,  and  call  on  Senator  Treemon.  Then  he 
would  return  to  Jane  and  the  phonograph  store.  He 
promised  to  call  round  before  going  away,  and,  leaving 
them,  went  off  to  look  for  a  hotel. 

In  the  seclusion  of  the  vast  Littlefield  house  there 
was  room  for  Maggie  and  her  grief.  Rose  found  her  a 
chamber  overlooking  the  garden,  with  a  view  beyond, 
up  a  broad  avenue  with  its  vista  of  elms,  restful  and 
refreshing.  From  the  moment  of  her  arrival  a  picture 
of  despair,  her  grief  had  gone  to  Mrs.  Littlefield's  heart. 
But  the  good  lady  left  her  alone  with  Rose,  and  when 
Maggie  had  conquered  the  excitement  and  embarrass- 
ment of  the  meeting  her  wonder  at  the  surroundings  of 
her  friend  was  almost  childish. 

"Is  it  your  house  this  is — and  who  is  the  lady?"  she 
asked.  "Mr.  Treemon  tried  to  tell  me,  but  I  couldn't 
listen.  I  only  heard  your  name,  Rose,  dear,  and  thenj 

320 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

knew  there  was  a  woman  to  whom  I  could  speak.  If 
you  knew  how  glad  I  was  to  come!" 

"I  am  glad  to  have  you,  Maggie  dear,"  said  Rose, 
soothingly.  "And  my  aunt  is  the  best  of  women. 
When  you  have  composed  yourself  and  see  how  good 
we  can  be  to  you,  Senator  Treemon  will  take  care  of 
your  future.  He  is  your  guardian,  you  know." 

"That's  a  blessing,"  sobbed  the  girl.  "It's  not  Father 
O'Grady,  or  dear  Jane,  that  can  advise  me  now.  Nor 
Mrs.  Welloby — God  be  good  to  her!" 

"We'll  take  care  of  you.  But,  after  all,  you'll  learn 
that  you  are  a  woman  and  can  rely  on  yourself.  You 
have  no  need  to  despair." 

"Haven't  I?"  said  Maggie,  with  fresh  sobs.  "It's 
because  I'm  a  woman,  God  pity  me,  that  I  must!  Am 
I  to  forget  Dan  Magee — or  to  be  reconciled  because  he. 
must  forget  me  ?  It's  a  convent,  Rose,  dear,  that's  left 
to  me ;  and  when  I  leave  you  it  will  be  to  say  farewell 
to  all  the  world." 

"That  need  not  fill  you  with  terror,  when  we  come 
to  talk  of  it,"  said  Rose,  gently.  "I  have  thought  of  a 
convent  many  times  myself,  when  the  world  was  hard 
and  my  heart  was  heavy,  near  to  breaking;  but  I  hadn't 
your  religion,  nor  any  claim  upon  it's  comforts." 

"But  being  a  woman,  Rose,  dear — and  the  thought  of 
Dan  Magee.  Ah!  ah!  ah! — that's  where  I'm  killed 
entirely!" 

Rose  shut  her  eyes  for  an  instant,  looking  away.  She 
thought  of  the  strong,  pleasant,  smooth-faced  man,  proud 
in  his  uniform,  and  proud  of  the  girl  now  crushed  and 
broken  before  her. 

"Where  is  he?" 

"God  knows.     If  I  should  see  him  I'd  fall  dead." 

"Doesn't  he  know?" 

"He  does  not.  He  went  away — I  drove  him  away  in 
my  pride  and  anger,  and  this  is  my  punishment.  In 

321 


that  view  perhaps  I  ought  to  bear  it.  Father  O'Grady 
says  the  penance  will  save  my  soul.  May  it  save  me  a 
corner  in  Dan's  heart,  with  no  matter  about  the  rest." 

"Who  knows  of  this?" 

"Not  one  who  would  speak  of  it,  for  that  matter. 
Not  one — the  friends  concealing  it  for  my  sake.  Per- 
haps it  was  for  Dan's.  And  oh,  Rose!  it's  of  Dan  I'm 
thinking  always.  And  I  loved  him  like  my  soul,  and 
never  a  minute  otherwise.  And  I  felt  so  sure  of  him, 
and  was — but  for  this!" 

Rose  Letcher  now  wept  with  her. 

"Never  mind,  my  poor  Maggie,"  she  said,  taking  the 
girl's  head  in  her  arms.  "Do  not  think  you  are  the 
only  woman  who  has  loved  a  man  and  lost  him.  I 
swear  to  you  that  I  know  those  who  have  suffered  a 
keener  sorrow." 

"Than  mine  ?"    And  Maggie  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"Than  yours.  My  poor,  suffering  child,  I  have  known 
others  more  forlorn,  who  bore  the  burden  of  conscious 
guilt,  which  you  do  not;  who  lacked  your  friends,  your 
gentle  heart,  the  kindly  faith — and  your  refreshing  and 
saving  ability  to  pity  yourself.  I  remember  such  a  one 
particularly — and  because  of  her  I  am  glad  you  came  to 
me;  because  of  her — I  will  be  your  friend  with  all  my 
power  and  strength.  I  am  beginning  at  last  to  have 
faith  in  life,  because  I  am  finding  out  my  own  heart; 
and  now  I  know  that  sometimes  God  afflicts  us  for  our 
good." 

And  in  each  other's  arms  they  wept  together. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

THE    COMMITTEE    AT   THE    WHITE    HOUSE 

THE  Littlefield  residence  was  in  the  most  impressive 
part  of  Washington,  a  neighbor  to  other  houses  less 
grand,  lacking  a  garden,  lacking  its  wide  front  and  great 
windows,  lacking  its  massive  bronze  doors  and  its  vast 
entrance,  but  themselves  imposing  —  palaces  to  excite 
wonder  and  admiration,  but  for  the  presence  of  the  Lit- 
tlefield house  to  invite  comparison. 

Upon  the  second  day  of  his  stay  in  Washington,  Mat 
Durgan  went  there  to  inquire  regarding  Maggie;  but 
he  departed  with  his  mission  unfulfilled.  He  looked  at 
the  great  windows,  the  great  stone  pillars,  and  the  gor- 
geous curtains,  and  might  have  found  courage  to  sus- 
tain his  diffidence  but  for  the  gorgeous  fat  man  on  the 
steps.  This  distinguished  gentleman  in  livery,  who  ap- 
peared at  intervals  through  the  great  doorway,  with 
elevated  head  and  august  and  haughty  bearing,  abashed 
the  modest  visitor  from  the  East  Side. 

"I  know  him,"  murmured  Mat,  refreshing  himself 
with  his  own  humor.  "It's  the  President  waiting  for 
Littlefield  to  come  home  and  give  him  his  daily  in- 
structions. I'll  not  break  in  on  his  Excellency,  not 
having  me  card.  I'll  see  him  later  at  the  White  House." 

He  turned  away  down  the  street. 

"After  all,"  he  thought,  with  a  smile,  "  it's  me  that's 
the  best  socialist  on  the  East  Side,  since  I  mind  me  own 
business  and  let  others  mind  theirs.  I'm  content.  I 
wouldn't  have  the  big  house  as  a  gift,  if  I  had  to  live 

323 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

in  it  and  stand  for  all  it  stands  for;  and  I  wouldn't  be 
that  red  president  with  his  striped  stockings  and  big 
paunch  for  a  thousand  dollars  a  day." 

He  strolled  south  to  Fifteenth  Street,  thence  down 
by  the  Treasury  Building,  and  on  Pennsylvania  Avenue 
he  quickened  his  steps  to  meet  a  throng  of  men  among 
which  he  thought  he  recognized  a  familiar  figure.  Reach- 
ing them,  he  spoke,  quietly,  after  the  manner  of  his  class, 
as  one  who  takes  the  happenings  of  life  for  granted. 

"Hello,  Jake  Roth!" 

The  iron- worker  turned  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  and 
stepped  back,  letting  his  companions  pass  on  ahead. 
He  took  Mat's  arm,  and  they  followed  slowly. 

"I  knew  you  were  here,  Mat,"  he  said.  "Jane  told 
me.  I  came  by  New  York.  I  was  to  join  these  fellows 
— a  committee  from  the  union  to  visit  the  President. 
He's  been  asked  to  say  a  word  or  two  about  the  strike 
we  are  considering,  in  the  interest  of  peace.  He's  go- 
ing to  tell  us  something  about  labor  which  we  don't 
know." 

"Is  he?"  observed  Mat,  dryly.  "Then  you  are  here 
for  several  days — perhaps  for  several  weeks." 

The  suggestion  of  a  smile  showed  in  the  corners  of 
Jacob  Roth's  grim  mouth.  Mat  noticed  that  he  was 
worn  and  haggard;  that  his  face  showed  an  expression 
of  weariness,  notwithstanding  its  dogged  resolution. 

"Jane  told  me  all,  and  I've  not  the  heart  to  think 
about  it  much.  I  don't  care.  It  would  have  put  me 
out  but  for  troubles  of  my  own.  Dan  Magee  is  here." 

Mat  paused  and  looked  about  him. 

"He's  at  the  hotel,  scarcely  himself,  with  several  things 
to  do.  He's  to  find  Turtle,  of  course,  but  he  wants  to  see 
Maggie.  I'm  to  find  a  man,  too,  but  I  haven't  so  far 
to  go;  and  I'm  to  see  Rose  if  possible.  Then  the  strike 
may  go  on,  the  heavens  may  fall,  or  they  may  turn  the 
current  on  me  at  Sing  Sing.  It's  little  I'm  caring." 

324 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Mat  Durgan  heard  him  in  silence.  He  was  used  to 
Jacob  Roth's  moods,  but  he  had  never  seen  him  as  bad 
as  this.  Mat  did  not  question  him;  it  was  not  his  habit. 
Jacob  Roth  would  speak  further  when  he  was  ready. 

"Are  you  going  to  the  White  House  now?" 

"Yes.  We  have  an  appointment.  Professor  Frank 
will  be  there,  too,  as  our  spokesman.  He's  gone  ahead." 

Mat  Durgan's  features  wrinkled. 

"It's  an  opportunity  that  comes  in  a  lifetime.  I'll 
join  you.  I  look  as  much  like  a  striker  as  any  one. 
If  the  union  needs  a  newspaper  man  to  talk  for  it,  it 
needs  a  friend  with  a  little  sense  to  hear  what  he  has 
to  say.  I'll  go." 

Jacob  Roth  smiled,  but  said  nothing.  They  followed 
the  others  slowly,  and,  reaching  the  iron  gate,  passed 
up  the  circular  walk  of  the  White  House  grounds.  In 
the  outer  room  they  found  Professor  Frank  awaiting 
them,  and  in  another  part  of  the  large  chamber  were 
Mr.  Littlefield,  Launcelot  Duffield,  with  friends  and 
representatives  of  the  iron  company,  conversing  to- 
gether in  subdued  tones.  For  the  first  moments  the 
two  factions  eyed  each  other  curiously,  the  capitalists 
nodding  to  the  committee  pleasantly,  a  recognition 
which  was  acknowledged  with  stiff  formality.  Thus 
they  waited  until  they  should  be  summoned  into  the 
Executive  presence.  The  interval  was  not  long.  An 
under-secretary  soon  appeared  and,  throwing  open  the 
wide  door,  ushered  them  into  the  presidential  chamber. 
Mat  Durgan  kept  close  at  the  side  of  Jacob  Roth,  filled 
with  a  consuming  curiosity.  He  was  impressed  by 
the  quiet  and  vigorous  man  who  received  them.  This 
feeling  grew  as  he  continued  to  regard  him  with  awe 
and  wonder.  His  simple  dignity,  the  power  behind 
and  about  him  expressed  almost  in  the  atmosphere  of 
the  place,  combined  with  the  quiet  and  graciousness 
of  their  reception,  affected,  likewise,  the  committee. 

325 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

All  aggressiveness  departed.  It  was  as  though  they 
had  come  into  a  council  chamber  that  was  their  own, 
wherein  their  rights  were  as  much  to  be  protected  as  in 
the  meeting-room  of  the  union.  The  faces  of  all  cleared 
and  grew  confident. 

The  President  rose  upon  their  entrance,  standing  be- 
hind his  desk,  bowing  pleasantly. 

"Welcome,  my  friends,"  he  said,  with  a  smile.  "I 
hope  you  have  had  time  to  look  about  your  city,  and 
find  it  good.  It  keeps  me  busy — but  that's  what  I'm 
here  for." 

The  committee  cleared  its  throat  and  shifted  itself  un- 
easily from  leg  to  leg,  finding  itself  embarrassed  when 
called  on  to  speak.  Professor  Frank  came  to  its  rescue, 
and  it  heard  his  voice  with  relief. 

"Most  of  our  friends  have  been  here  before,  your 
Excellency,"  he  said,  "but  I  do. not  think  we  can  come 
too  often.  We  are  down  here  now  to  discuss  the  merger 
of  the  Midland  and  Interstate  railroads  with  the  Nation- 
al Mutual  Iron  Company,  of  which  latter  company  we 
are  a  committee  of  employe's." 

"We  are  not,"  broke  out  Mr.  Littlefield,  sharply — 
"we  are  not  to  discuss  that  matter  at  all;  and  upon 
our  part  we  decline  to  do  so,  and  question  the  right  of 
anybody  outside  of  it  to  either  discuss  it  or  comment 
on  it.  It  is  not  admitted  that  such  a  merger  is  either 
consummated  or  contemplated,  and  no  one  but  ourselves 
can  know  anything  about  it.  After  all,  that  is  a  matter 
for  the  courts  and  not  the  President.  We  are  here  to 
discuss  the  iniquity  of  a  contemplated  strike — a  strike 
to  force  wages  from  a  public  service  corporation  that 
cannot  afford  to  pay  them  at  the  present  time.  And 
if  we  should  be  compelled  to  pay  them,  it  will  be  a  great 
injustice  to  stockholders,  for  which  we  are  trustees — 
trustees,  who  are  more  entitled  to  consideration  than 
the  men  who  make  violent  demands  upon  them." 

326 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

The  peace  in  the  atmosphere  departed  and  the  com- 
mittee scowled,  shifting  itself  again  on  either  leg  and 
looking  at  its  spokesman.  The  President  smiled,  turn- 
ing easily  to  Mr.  Littlefield. 

"I  am  not  likely  to  be  annoyed  in  any  manner,"  he 
said,  lightly.  "This  discussion  may  take  what  phase 
it  will.  You  have  thrown  about  me  the  mantle  of  the 
peacemaker,  and  I  propose  to  wear  it  in  any  form.  I'm 
glad  to  see  a  body  of  citizens  who  think  I  can  be  of 
service.  Proceed,  gentlemen." 

"We  understood  that  the  discussion  might  take  any 
form,  when  we  were  invited  to  come  here,"  said  Pro- 
fessor Frank,  blandly,  with  a  glance  of  triumph  at  Mr. 
Littlefield. 

"They're  trapped,"  muttered  Jacob  Roth,  between  his 
teeth. 

Mat  Durgan  heard  him  and  nudged  him  with  his  el- 
bow. He  would  have  a  story  of  wonder  to  carry  back 
to  Jane  and  his  friends  on  the  East  Side. 

"As  employe's  of  the  National  Mutual  Iron  Company, 
this  committee  objects  to  its  violating  the  law — " 

"The  Sherman  law,"  asked  the  President,  quizzically, 
with  a  glance  at  Launcelot  Duffield. 

"Exactly,  your  Excellency,"  continued  Professor 
Frank;  "and  thereby  making  them  receivers,  as  wage- 
earners,  of  illegal  moneys." 

"Tainted  money,"  said  Launcelot  Duffield,  with  a 
sneer. 

"We  didn't  bring  a  lawyer  here  to  argue  these  ques- 
tions for  us,"  said  Mr.  Littlefield. 

"You  had  better  have  done  so,"  muttered  Jacob 
Roth,  fiercely. 

The  conference  in  the  Executive  Chamber  was  verging 
on  the  unseemly. 

"If  we  are  to  state  our  grievances  in  the  language  or 
manner  selected  for  us  by  our  opponents,"  said  Pro- 

327 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

fessor  Frank,  "why  should  we  come  here  at  all?  We  in- 
tend to  raise  the  matter  in  the  courts,  just  as  has  been 
suggested.  But  if  our  manner  of  stating  our  posi- 
tion is  not  satisfactory  to  your  Excellency,  we  will  be 
silent." 

"Go  on,  my  friend,"  said  the  President. 

"I  think  I  shall  not,"  said  Professor  Frank,  after  a 
pause,  enjoying  the  discomfiture  evident  in  the  faces  of 
the  capitalists.  "We  were  very  glad  to  come  here,  and 
we  shall  be  glad  to  maintain  a  respectful  silence  since 
we  are  here,  and  let  our  capitalistic  friends  have  the  floor. 
They  can  talk  and  we  will  be  content  to  act.  There 
are  more  of  us,  at  all  events,  and  if  we  can  ever  suc- 
ceed in  agreeing  among  ourselves  and  getting  together, 
maybe  there  won't  be  many  of  them  left.  We  have 
decided  to  strike  for  more  wages,  according  to  demands 
which  have  been  submitted  by  the  committee  in  writing. 
But  we  are  willing  to  admit  that  we  are  making  a  polit- 
ical question  of  our  movement,  and  have  behind  us  the 
support  of  rich  socialistic  agitators,  who  promise  to  help 
us  in  the  courts.  Our  technical  position  will  be  that  we 
ought  not  to  receive  as  wages  moneys  derived  from  an 
unlawful  combination." 

"If  you  have  reached  that  decision  already,  and  this 
is  merely  a  call  upon  your  Executive,  I  repeat,  gentle- 
men, that  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  said  the  President. 
"But  I  am  sorry,  always,  of  strife  between  interests 
that  should  work  harmoniously  together.  You  under- 
stand that  a  house  divided  against  itself  must  fall.  A 
strike  of  this  magnitude  will  undoubtedly  bring  suffering 
upon  many  innocent  people.  But  you  have  my  sym- 
pathy in  an  appeal  to  the  courts." 

"If  we  could  get  justice,  your  Excellency,"  said  Pro- 
fessor Frank.  "Therein  you  are  interested,  sir." 

"That  is  something  not  to  be  questioned,"  said  the 
President,  sharply.  "To  question  the  courts  is  to  ques- 

328 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

tion  the  integrity  of  your  government.  You  surely  do 
not  do  that." 

"He  does,  your  Honor,"  broke  in  Mat  Durgan.  "I 
know  him.  Ask  him  what  will  happen  if  we  don't  get 
justice." 

Jacob  Roth  turned  to  him  in  astonishment,  and  the 
President  looked  at  him  with  a  glance  of  sudden  inquiry. 
The  startled  committee  regarded  Professor  Frank  with 
confusion. 

"Courts  are  but  men,  your  Excellency,  and  influenced 
by  the  considerations  that  appeal  to  men.  A  man  must 
of  necessity  be  the  same  on  the  bench  that  he  is  off  it, 
and  that  he  was  before  he  was  elevated  to  it.  I  know 
my  young  friend,  who  I  am  surprised  to  see  here — but 
it  does  not  matter.  I  speak  anywhere,  and  always,  the 
same.  So  do  all  socialists.  In  the  event  that  we  do  not 
get  justice,  we  must  reform  the  government." 

The  President's  face  relaxed,  taking  on  a  curious  smile. 

"How  would  you  reform  the  government?" 

"We  could  have  a  new  Constitution."  The  answer 
was  bland. 

"Who  would  write  it?"     The  question  was  blunt. 

Professor  Frank  rose  to  the  occasion. 

"The  people,  your  Excellency — their  spokesman — / 
would." 

"And  how  adopt  it?" 

"That's  it,  your  Honor,"  broke  in  Mat  again.  "He'd 
call  out  the  troops  and  force  the  people  to  accept  his 
views.  It  hasn't  occurred  to  him  that  the  people  are  the 
troops  and  there's  no  one  to  force  them.  At  one  time 
I  worked  for  wages,  and  I  never  felt  I  was  oppressed. 
Now  I  keep  a  phonograph  store  as  agent  for  a  trust, 
with  all  the  problems  worked  out  above  me;  and  I'm 
making  money.  I'll  have  that  job  when  your  Honor 
has  lost  yours.  And  I  want  to  keep  that  monopoly, 
and  the  monopoly  in  the  woman  that  helps  me  keep  it. 

aa  329 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

If  the  Sherman  law  is  against  that,  I'm  against  the  law. 
If  I  was  the  union  I'd  let  the  trusts  combine,  and  then 
I'd  make  them  share  with  me.  And  the  stronger  they 
got  the  better  I'd  like  it,  and  the  more  I'd  make  them 
divide.  The  more  they  would  make  the  more  there 
would  be  for  me.  I'd  educate  myself  to  get  it.  That's 
the  problem  of  the  workmen.  If  we're  all  to  be  capital- 
ists, that's  another  matter;  but  I  don't  think  the  courts 
can  settle  that." 

Mr.  Littlefield  laughed,  with  a  glance  at  Launcelot 
Duffield. 

"We  could  adopt  a  reformed  Constitution,"  said  the 
Professor,  answering  the  question  of  the  President. 

Mat  laughed  derisively. 

"Who'd  vote  for  it — the  honest  working-man?" 

"The  honest  working-man,  the  small  tradesman,  and 
the  farmer  would  come  pretty  near  carrying  it,"  answered 
the  Professor. 

"Wait  till  you  get  'em,"  retorted  Mat. 

"I  don't  know  that  this  matter  is  settled,  Mr.  Presi- 
dent," said  Mr.  Littlefield.  "There  seems  to  be  some 
wisdom  with  the  committee." 

The  committee  could  not  gather  itself  together  so 
immediately  as  to  declare  that  Mat  was  not  one  of  them. 
Professor  Frank,  who  loved  a  controversy  in  this  re- 
spect, as  the  breath  of  his  nostrils,  listened,  waiting  for 
an  opportunity  to  reply. 

"The  mistake  the  Professor  makes  is  to  think  that  he 
represents  a  large  number  of  people,"  continued  Mat. 
"The  fact  is,  he's  all  alone.  The  people  aren't  afraid  of 
anybody.  There's  no  army  to  fear.  But  the  navy's 
too  big.  That's  a  source  of  danger — some  ways." 

The  President  laughed. 

"You  think  that?"  he  asked. 

"Sure,  your  Honor.  If  the  government  would  try  to 
use  it  against  the  people,  the  boys  would  all  desert;  then 

330 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

there 'd  be  a  lot  of  junk  on  hand  that  the  trusts  would 
buy  at  half-price,  to  sell  back  to  the  government  when 
it  came  to  its  senses." 

"I  think  we'll  find  no  doubt  of  the  integrity  of  the 
courts  in  you,  my  friend,"  said  the  President. 

"No,  your  Honor,"  replied  Mat,  seriously,  "nor  of 
the  country,  either.  I've  seen  no  man  in  jail  that  ought 
not  to  be  there,  and  I've  never  heard  of  a  rich  man 
bullying  a  poor  man  publicly;  it's  not  tried  here.  And 
I'm  not  afraid  of  the  officers  the  people  elect.  To  get 
better,  we'd  have  to  bring  them  from  somewheres  else, 
and  I'm  opposed  to  that.  Sometimes  they  steal  a  little 
money,  but  they  don't  get  away  with  it  far.  We've  got 
to  wait  until  we're  all  honest  enough  to  trust  one  an- 
other. I've  sense  enough  to  know  that  good  rules,  the 
best  we  can  make,  will  help  us  to  that  time,  and  gradu- 
ally we'll  rise  to  them.  Kansas  has  a  prohibition  law,  as 
has  Maine,  these  twenty  years  or  more,  as  I've  heard — 
and  they  haven't  grown  up  to  it  yet.  The  best  socialists 
I  know  anything  about  continually  urge  the  people  to 
be  good.  If  the  people  are  good,  the  officers  that  come 
from  them  will  be  good,  and  it's  a  matter  of  patience  and 
education.  I  live  on  the  East  Side,  where  some  of  us 
have  a  hard  time,  but  we  don't  know  any  better — our 
children  will.  There  was  a  young  woman  used  to  live 
over  there  by  the  name  of  Rose  Letcher.  She's  living 
in  Washington  now,  God  bless  her!  and  she's  risen  to 
things,  until  she's  now  pretty  near  next  to  the  head  of 
the  National  Mutual  Iron  Company.  She  used  to  speak 
on  socialistic  questions,  and  try  to  teach  us  to  be  good. 
I've  heard  her  say  a  thousand  times  that  we  needn't  fear 
centralizing  the  government  if  we  keep  rotation  in  office, 
free  speech,  free  newspapers,  free  schools,  and  a  free  vote." 

"Hurrah!  Good!"  cried  Launcelot  Duffield,  clapping 
his  hands.  "Here's  a  sensible  patriot,  your  Excellency, 
who's  trenching  on  my  ground." 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"Thank  ye  kindly,  sir,"  said  Mat.  "But  I  think  the 
ground's  more  common  than  ye  suppose.  Give  us  these, 
or  let  us  keep  them,  for  they're  ours  already,  and  we'll 
soon  learn  to  take  over  the  public  service  corporations; 
and  the  rest,  with  the  rich  man,  we  needn't  fear;  they'd 
better  fear  us.  The  country's  all  right!  I  beg  your 
pardon,  your  Honor.  This  is  the  only  speech  I  ever 
made,  but  the  truth  is  I'm  Irish,  and  I  love  to  talk  as 
much  as  the  Professor  himself.  Your  Honor's  the  only 
president  I  ever  met — I  couldn't  miss  the  opportunity 
to  say  a  few  words." 

The  President  broke  into  a  laugh  in  which  the  others 
joined,  seating  himself  behind  his  desk. 

"If  you  will  name  the  phonograph  company  you  are 
connected  with,  I'll  buy  it,"  said  Launcelot  Duffield, 
"and  make  you  an  officer." 

"With  all  due  respect,"  laughed  Mat,  "I'm  afraid  it 
could  buy  you." 

"I  did  not  think,"  said  Professor  Frank,  "that  my 
friend  Durgan — " 

"Ah  ha!"  interrupted  Mat.  "Life  is  full  of  surprises, 
Professor.  You  are  just  as  honest  as  I  am,  and  no  more. 
You  are  just  as  likely  to  be  wrong,  in  spite  of  your 
learning.  Few  of  us  are  licensed  to  judge  each  other. 
If  you  were  a  rich  man  you'd  be  an  ornament  to  your 
class.  If  I  were  a  rich  man  I'd  still  be  a  spectre  here, 
as  I  am,  and  it  would  take  the  rest  of  me  life  to  grow  up 
to  the  money  I  had.  You  can't  abolish  the  workmen 
without  abolishing  the  things  they  make;  and  capital 
is  one  of  the  things  they  make.  That's  protection 
enough,  when  we  come  to  understand  it.  Millions  of 
men  don't  want  to  be  capitalists;  that's  your  mistake. 
Millions  of  men  are  struggling  for  something  besides 
money,  and  most  of  us  see  that  it's  only  a  means  to 
an  end.  We  work  for  it  because  we  must,  but  it's  the 
spending  of  it,  and  not  the  hoarding  of  it,  that  makes 

332 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

progress.  If  you  would  take  us  all  up  on  Fifth  Avenue 
and  locate  us  there,  we'd  move  back  to  the  East  Side 
from  choice." 

Mat  stepped  back  to  the  side  of  Jacob  Roth,  who 
laid  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  The  iron-worker  was 
speechless  in  gratified  pride  and  wonder. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Littlefield,  speaking  to  the 
committee,  "your  demands  have  been  made  in  writing, 
and  we  know  them.  Are  you  willing  to  take  our  word 
for  it  that  we  cannot  grant  them  without  bankruptcy — 
unless  we  can  associate  these  roads  and  justify  it  to  the 
court?" 

"7  am,"  said  Jacob  Roth,  after  a  pause. 

"Are  you  able  to  see,  then,  that  your  interests  in  this 
respect  are  ours?  If  we  conduct  these  enterprises  to- 
gether, they  will  earn  the  money  to  meet  your  demands." 

"That's  what  I  was  suspecting,  and  trying  to  say," 
said  Mat. 

"You  have  said  it  very  well,"  answered  Launcelot 
Duffield.  "In  spite  of  your  suggestion,  I  mean  to  look 
up  your  phonograph  company.  I  wish  we  had  you  in 
the  Senate." 

"I  suspect  you  might  find  an  advocate  against  the 
Sherman  law,  when  he  had  investigated  the  matter," 
said  the  President,  good-naturedly. 

Jacob  Roth  conferred  with  his  associates.  They 
stood  together  muttering  in  low  voices. 

"We  will  accept  your  statement,"  he  said,  finally,  to 
Mr.  Littlefield. 

"Very  well,"  replied  the  magnate.  "Your  committee 
may  say  to  the  workmen  that  their  demands  are  granted. 
The  new  scale  of  wages  will  go  into  effect  at  once.  Our 
meeting,  after  all,  is  a  success." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Jacob  Roth,  as  a  murmur  of 
gratification  came  from  the  men.  "If  we  were  outside 
we'd  give  you  a  cheer." 

333 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"We'll  continue  to  take  your  paper,  Professor,"  said 
Mat.  "But  you'd  better  let  me  help  you  edit  it." 

The  President  rose  again  from  his  seat. 

"I  congratulate  you  both,  my  friends,"  he  said.  "If 
all  our  difficulties  could  be  settled  so  happily,  we  could 
go  out  of  office  with  a  good  conscience." 

They  filed  by  and  shook  hands  with  him,  going  into 
the  outer  room.  There  they  waited  for  the  appearance 
of  Mr.  Littlefield  and  Launcelot  Duffield,  who  remained 
behind  for  a  parting  word  with  the  President.  Upon 
the  walk,  outside,  Jacob  Roth  stopped  with  Mat  Dur- 
gan,  his  face  again  wearing  its  grim  look. 

"You  did  well,  Mat,"  he  said,  his  arm  about  the 
other's  neck.  "I'm  glad  you  were  able  to  talk  good 
feeling  for  us.  You've  helped  the  union,  and  it  gratifies 
me,  now  that  my  office  with  it  draws  to  a  close.  I  wish 
you  could  advise  me  about  other  matters  that  lie  heavy 
on  my  heart.  But  you  can't  do  it,  lad.  There  are  some 
paths  along  which  a  man  must  walk  alone." 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

THE    INFLUENCE    OF    LOVE 

"  FOREVER  "  MAGGIE  and  her  grief  lost  themselves  in 
the  great  Littlefield  mansion.  In  spite  of  her  disposi- 
tion to  be  kindly,  beyond  a  shocked  acknowledgment  of 
her  presence,  Victoria  Wemyss  gave  her  no  heed.  Lady 
Darrow  was  sympathetic,  and  made  occasional  inquiry. 
Mrs.  Littlefield  looked  in  at  times  to  see  that  she  wanted 
nothing.  But  to  Rose  Letcher  she  was  a  solace  and 
comfort,  because  she  awakened  in  her  some  new  and 
womanly  emotions.  From  the  first  Rose  gave  to  the 
broken  girl  all  the  attention  that  her  kindly,  jealous, 
and  exacting  aunt  would  permit,  sitting  with  her  in  her 
room  for  hours,  and  walking  with  her  in  the  shaded 
garden  which  encircled  the  rear  of  the  house.  She 
had  spoken  none  too  freely  to  Mrs.  Littlefield  regarding 
her  own  past  and  its  experience.  Knowing  that  it  had 
to  do  with  trial  and  privation,  the  good  lady  had  re- 
spected her  reticence.  She  felt  that  confidence  would 
come  in  time,  and  now  that  she  had  the  girl  for  her 
own,  and  found  occasion  for  pride  in  her,  it  really  mat- 
tered little.  Both  she  and  Lady  Darrow  recognized  in 
Maggie  a  person  such  as  Rose  had  described,  one  in  the 
nature  of  a  dependent,  and  left  them  together  without 
inquiry  as  to  how  their  association  had  begun.  To  Cap- 
tain Travers,  the  new-comer  was  a  word  and  a  rumor. 
To  the  servants  there  was  no  explanation,  but  they  saw 
in  her  a  friend  or  relative  who  had  suffered  a  bereave- 
ment, and  were  sympathetic  and  attentive  in  conse- 

335 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

quence.  So  Maggie  was  tenderly  deferred  to,  and  dur- 
ing her  meals,  which  were  taken  in  her  rooms,  and  her 
walks  in  the  garden  she  was  in  no  manner  embarrassed 
or  annoyed. 

She  clung  to  Rose  in  the  frenzy  of  despair.  The 
stronger  nature  held  hers  in  weeping  and  idolatrous  sub- 
jection. She  rallied  under  the  words  of  comfort  that 
Rose  gave  her,  and  was  like  a  child  to  receive  the  assur- 
ances of  hope  for  the  future  which  the  educated  woman 
of  experience  held  out  to  her.  But  Dan — Dan  Magee ! — 
there  was  the  burden  of  her  sorrow;  and  with  the  utter- 
ance of  his  name  her  tears  broke  forth  afresh. 

The  windows  of  the  apartments  assigned  to  Captain 
Travers  overlooked  the  garden,  and  the  new  figure 
which  he  saw  walking  there  with  Rose  interested  him. 
His  casement  also  commanded  a  view  of  the  green 
thoroughfares  leading  to  the  distant  hills,  and  he  often 
paused  before  them,  in  his  intervals  of  dress  and  prep- 
aration, to  admire  the  pleasant  prospect.  Since,  upon 
the  walks  below,  he  had  begun  to  note  the  presence  of 
Rose  Letcher,  his  pauses  were  more  frequent.  These 
were  days  of  pride  and  peace  to  him,  as  they  were  days 
of  surprise  and  astonishment.  He  could  not  under- 
stand his  own  lightened  life,  or  reason  why  it  had  taken 
on  a  pleasant  and  roseate  glamour.  Under  the  adulation 
of  a  soft  and  complacent  capital  he  grew  daily  more 
enamoured  of  himself.  Flattered,  caressed,  wined  and 
dined,  he  exulted  in  the  present  without  anxiety.  And 
above  and  around  and  about  this  period  of  benignity 
there  hovered  a  shadow  as  pleasing  as  it  was  perplex- 
ing. It  was  deuced  strange  about  Rose!  It  was  one 
of  the  enigmas  of  life!  and  she  was  rich,  or  would  be, 
and  highly  placed;  and  the  years  had  brought  to  her 
a  dark  and  striking  beauty  well  calculated  to  stir  the 
undercurrent  of  a  fancy  like  his  own,  especially  if  it 
were  a  trifle  worn  and  jaded.  She  would  go  out  in 

336 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Washington  soon,  and  then  she  would  make  the  hit 
that  she  did  in  London.  He  grew  suddenly  troubled 
and  reflective.  There  was  Marshall  Treemon  —  the 
thought  stiffened  him.  By  Jove!  What  more  likely — 

Standing  now  in  his  room,  he  went  to  the  window 
and  looked  again  into  the  garden.  Yes,  she  was  there. 

She  had  come  out  in  the  interval  since  he  had  looked 
before,  and  was  sitting  with  the  new  girl  upon  a  rus- 
tic seat  underneath  a  short,  thick,  sprawling  tree,  with 
wide  leaves.  He  had  had  no  opportunity  to  meet  Rose 
and  speak  with  her  alone  since  the  day  of  his  coming. 
That  she  had  avoided  him,  he  understood,  but  it  had 
been  coldly  and  indifferently,  and  there  had  been  no 
enmity  in  the  glances  he  had  noted  upon  the  few  occa- 
sions when  they  were  together,  in  the  company  of  others, 
in  the  drawing-room.  He  looked  once  more,  hesitated, 
then  summoned  his  resolution  and,  descending  the  stairs, 
went  boldly  into  the  garden. 

The  two  women  observed  his  coming  along  the  walk, 
and  saw  from  his  manner  and  the  smile  upon  his  face 
that  he  meant  to  speak  to  them. 

Maggie  looked  at  her  companion  with  a  half-frightened 
expression,  but  the  black  eyes  of  Rose  Letcher  flashed. 
Neither  answered  his  smile  or  gave  him  any  sign  of  wel- 
come, but  he  stopped  before  them. 

"Good-afternoon,"  he  said,  unabashed.  "I  saw  you 
from  my  window,  and  I  thought  you  might  share  a  little 
of  the  garden  with  me.  It's  a  pleasant  day,  and  all 
that,  you  know.  Washington  seems  to  be  a  city  of  pleas- 
ant days.  You'll  not  be  selfish  and  tell  me  to  go  away  ?" 

"You  risk  that,"  replied  Rose  Letcher,  coldly,  re- 
garding him  with  calm  eyes.  "I  am  deliberating." 

She  did  not  consider  Maggie,  who  shrank  away  at 
her  side  with  a  wounded  modesty  that  would  have  hid- 
den itself  in  the  earth.  Rose  felt  the  movement,  and 
started  as  if  stung. 

337 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"Miss  Rooney,"  she  said,  "this  is  Captain  Algeron 
Travers,  an  officer  in  the  British  Army,  who  is  a  guest 
of  my  aunt,  Mrs.  Little  fie  Id.  Captain  Travers,  this  is 
Miss  Rooney,  my  friend — my  very  dear  friend." 

Captain  Travers  drew  a  triumphant  breath,  bowing 
gallantly. 

"If  Miss  Rooney  will  pronounce  the  name  Travers, 
in  what  I  take  to  be  her  native  accent,  she  may  find 
in  me  a  countryman,"  he  said.  "In  which  event  she 
may  be  kinder  to  me  than  you,  Miss  Letcher." 

A  faint  smile  that  crept  to  Maggie's  lips  brought  one 
to  the  face  of  Rose.  Her  heart  softened  towards  him. 

"If  you  are  Irish,  Captain  Travers,"  said  Maggie,  "I 
think  Rose  can  be  good  to  you."  And  here  she  looked 
at  her  companion.  She  understood  something  from  the 
tone  of  the  voices  as  the  two  had  spoken.  "I  have  al- 
ways found  her  good  to  every  one." 

"I'm  more  comfortable  under  that  suggestion,  Miss 
Rooney,  than  you  can  possibly  know,"  he  replied.  "I 
can't  really  boast  much  about  Ireland.  I  went  over 
there  to  do  penance  for  my  sins,  it  being  my  mother's 
birthplace.  I  believe  you  have  been  ill,  Miss  Rooney? 
I  hope  you  are  better?" 

"She  has  lost  an  uncle,"  said  Rose  Letcher,  as  Mag- 
gie's eyes,  large  and  sorrowful,  turned  upon  the  speaker. 
"But  these  Washington  days  of  which  you  speak  are 
doing  wonders  for  her." 

"It's  the  most  beautiful  city  in  the  world,  I  suspect," 
he  said,  smilingly.  "But  there  are  others  out  for  the 
sunshine." 

Mrs.  Littlefield,  Lady  Darrow,  and  Victoria  now  caine 
down  the  walk,  turning  from  beyond  the  wing,  around 
which  the  garden  ran  to  an  iron  fence  along  the  street. 
The  three  ladies  stopped  as  Captain  Travers  saluted 
them.  He  did  not  know  why,  but  a  conscious  flush 
suffused  his  face  as  he  felt  the  eyes  of  Victoria  upon  him 

338 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"Wise  people,"  said  Mrs.  Littlefield.  "But,  Captain, 
how  is  it  that  you  are  here  at  this  hour  of  the  day  ?  Mr. 
Littlefield  is  at  the  club." 

"Quite  an  accident,  you  know,"  he  said,  "or,  it  may 
be,  a  fortunate  chance.  I  was  up-stairs,  I  looked  out  of 
the  window,  and — the  garden  invited  me." 

"You  mean,"  she  said,  with  a  glance  at  the  occupants 
of  the  rustic  seat,  "that  the  young  ladies  invited  you." 

"He  invited  himself,"  observed  Rose,  dryly. 

"Hello!"  exclaimed  the  Captain,  as  a  step  sounded 
on  the  gravelled  walk  near  them.  "Here's  another  self- 
invited  person,  you  know." 

The  walk  led  from  an  iron  gate  ajar  in  the  great 
pickets  along  the  street.  In  the  distance,  through  the 
shrubbery,  the  moving  vehicles  could  be  seen  speeding 
over  the  smooth  asphalt.  Rose  half  started,  and  Mag- 
gie, with  staring  eyes,  fell  behind  her. 

A  man  came  towards  them,  half  pausing,  half  hesi- 
tating, halting  and  then  proceeding ;  but  now  he  moved 
forward  with  a  sudden  and  fixed  resolution.  Rose 
scarcely  knew  him  in  the  unfamiliar  gray  suit.  It  was 
well  cut  and  fitted  his  erect  form,  showing  the  square- 
ness of  the  shoulders  and  the  firm  carriage  of  his  body. 
His  face  was  smooth,  pale,  and  determined. 

Stopping  before  them,  he  took  off  his  hat  and  stood 
silent  and  almost  humbly. 

"Why,  Mr.  Magee!"  exclaimed   Rose.     "Is  it  you?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said.  "I  heard  that  Maggie 
was  here,  and  for  a  half  hour  I've  been  walking  by  the 
house,  afraid  to  ring  or  knock  or  inquire.  I  was  told  it 
was  no  mistake,  but  it  seemed  so.  Then  I  heard  voices, 
and  got  a  glimpse  through  the  fence.  The  voice  I  heard 
I've  known  since  it  was  a  little  girl's  voice,  and  one  that's 
been  with  me  day  and  night.  I  was  afraid  no  more. 
It  drew  me  with  a  power  that  was  beyond  me.  I  came 
in." 

339 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

The  others  looked  at  him  in  wonder,  Captain  Travers 
amazed.  Rose  stood  up. 

"  I  spoke  to  Father  O'Grady,  and  he  told  me  to  come," 
went  on  Dan.  "And  since  I  find  her  at  your  side,  Rose 
Letcher,  may  God  forever  bless  you.  There's  a  man 
would  die  for  you  now,  as  he  would  for  any  who  was 
good  to  her.  Did  she  think  I  wouldn't  come?  That  I, 
who  was  glad  of  her  face  in  smiles,  wouldn't  weep  for  her 
face  in  tears  ?  That  I  would  forget  the  girl  of  my  heart 
when  the  lightning  struck  her?"  And  his  voice  rose, 
sharp  now  in  passion  as  his  emotion  grew.  "Before  you 
all,  her  friends  who  received  her,  as  before  high  heaven, 
I  claim  her.  Am  I  the  man  who  would  have  her  in  hap- 
piness, and  scorn  her  in  despair  ?  Don't  think  it!  She's 
mine,  mine — mine!  And  I've  come  for  her." 

"Dan!"  cried  Maggie,  in  a  piercing  voice,  springing 
up.  "Dan!" 

"Ah — !  Bless  God,  my  darlin'!  What's  anything 
in  the  world  to  me,  before  you?  Did  I  work  for  a  name 
on  the  force  to  go  back  on  my  girl  when  misfortune 
came  to  her?" 

"My  good  fellow — sir!"  said  Captain  Travers,  rousing 
himself  and  interposing.  "I  don't  understand  —  but 
you  are  intruding  here,  you  know.  You  are  distress- 
ing and  disturbing  these  ladies.  You  are  talking  like 
a  man,  and  a  gentleman,  and  all  that,  you  know,  but 
some  other  time — " 

Rose  Letcher  grasped  his  arm  and  drew  him  quickly 
aside,  glancing  at  him  fiercely,  and  in  swift  reproof. 
But  something  in  her  eyes  did  not  displease  him,  and 
her  words  and  manner  touched  him  strangely  as  she 
spoke. 

"You  men!  Are  you  always  so  attractively  stupid? 
Stand  away,  Algeron!" 

Then  she  extended  her  hand  to  Dan  Magee,  her  black 
lashes  showing  tears. 

340 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"Dan  Magee,"  she  said,  "old  friend!  It  is  I  who 
bless  you." 

He  took  her  hand  in  both  of  his,  bending  over  it  and 
pressing  it  lightly  to  his  breast,  but  his  gaze  was  on  the 
shrinking  and  white-faced  girl  behind  her. 

"Ah,  but  she's  beautiful,  is  she  not,  with  the  sweet 
face  that's  glad  now  at  the  sight  of  me?  Come  back 
with  me,  acushla.  We'll  have  a  home  among  the  chil- 
dren and  the  people  that  love  ye.  There'll  be  no 
prouder  man  on  the  East  Side  than  when  I  see  ye  on 
Avenue  A  steppin'  the  stones  as  ye  used  to  do,  with  your 
head  high,  and  you — me  girl — once  more." 

He  released  Rose's  hand  as  Maggie  came  to  him,  and, 
leaping  forward,  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms. 

"Come,"  said  Rose,  quickly,  to  the  silent  and  aston- 
ished group,  "let  us  go.  There's  a  summer-house, 
Dan,"  she  continued,  as  the  two  remained  motionless 
in  their  close  embrace — "a  shelter — down  the  walk,  and 
you  can  speak  in  quiet  with  Maggie  there.  Before  you 
go  I'll  see  you." 

She  pointed  down  the  garden  in  the  direction  of  the 
clustering  shrubbery,  and,  not  waiting  for  his  answer, 
turned  with  the  others  and  left  them,  proceeding  tow- 
ards the  house  and  entering  the  door  at  the  rear.  Cap- 
tain Travers  had  remained  with  her,  and  waited  now  at 
her  side,  following  as  she  moved  away.  As  she  proceeded 
up  the  stairway  he  kept  pace  with  her,  leaving  the  others 
in  the  hall,  and  going  to  the  drawing-room.  Rose  Letcher 
knew  that  he  was  agitated.  She  felt  something  of  this 
herself,  hesitating  and  irresolute,  as  he  breathed  quickly 
and  with  labored  effort,  his  hand  nervously  at  her  elbow. 
Then  she  faced  him,  striving  on  her  part  to  be  calm. 

"Now!"  he  exclaimed,  looking  at  her  with  a  strange 
excitement,  glancing  about  to  see  that  they  were  alone. 
"Do  you  know  what  you  called  me  in  the  garden? 
Well,  am  I  to  be  less  a  man  than  that  fellow  out  there 

34i 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

whoever  he  is,  and  whatever  he  means,  you  know?  Is 
it  too  late  for  me  to  see  a  duty,  although,  as  God  is  my 
judge,  there's  a  deuced  selfish  moving  impulse  behind  it  ? 
Rose,  Vic  doesn't  love  me.  She  ould  be  glad  if  I 
would  set  her  free." 

"No,"  replied  Rose,  her  voice  trembling  as  she  showed 
emotion — "no.  But  I  know  who  loves  her — Senator 
Treemon.  He  told  me  so." 

"Told  you!"  exclaimed  Captain  Travers,  in  astonish- 
ment. "Why,  we  guessed  this!  But  is  it  possible  that 
he  mentioned  it  to  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  responded,  in  subdued  surprise.  "It's  a 
strange  series  of  circumstances  that  would  make  me  his 
confidant — and  yet,  I  seem  to  be  winning  with  every- 
body." 

"You've  won  with  me,"  he  said,  almost  roughly,  so 
much  was  he  overcome.  "Rose,  what  do  I  care  who 
Vic  loves,  since  I  love  you?  Tell  me  to  do  so,  and  I'll 
tell  her  of  it — I  will  tell  it  to  the  world." 

"You  are  to  tell  nothing  to  the  world,"  she  answered, 
slowly.  "But  you  may  tell  her  of  it,"  she  continued,  as 
he  watched  her  eagerly ;  "it  is  best  that  way.  Tell  this 
much  to  your  cousin,  speedily.  It  is  at  least  fair  to  her." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

A     CHANGE      OF     HEART 

UPON  her  return  to  America,  and  Washington,  a 
significant  change  had  come  to  Victoria  Wemyss.  She 
was  conscious  of  it  herself.  It  was  unnoticed  by  Lady 
Darrow  and  unsuspected  by  Lord  Wemyss.  It  was 
not  apparent  in  her  speech  and  manner,  but  it  might 
have  looked  from  her  eyes  and  revealed  itself  to  one  to 
whom  she  would  have  given  the  confidence  of  her  soul. 
Travelled  as  she  was,  and  familiar  with  the  best  social 
life  of  Europe,  England  had  nevertheless  been  home, 
and  all  that  it  meant  to  her.  Measured  by  such  stand- 
ards as  these  with  which  she  was  familiar,  it  was  the 
land  paramount.  Its  ways  were  hers,  known  to  her, 
and  she  had  never  thought  to  consider  any  other;  but 
now,  facing  the  supreme  moment  of  her  life,  the  crisis 
of  a  marriage  with  her  cousin,  long  contemplated,  she 
had  considered  the  matter  deeply  and  constantly.  She 
was  not  a  girl  of  impulse  and  sudden  emotion.  She 
was  intelligent  and  thoughtful.  Rated  as  a  beauty  and 
feted  and  flattered  as  such,  she  was  neither  spoiled  nor 
vain.  She  had  that  stock  and  store  of  English  com- 
mon-sense which  made  her  equable,  without  inducing  a 
spirit  of  unwomanly  independence  which  her  traditions 
would  have  deemed  masculine.  In  this  respect  she 
conformed  to  English  convention;  but  she  could  feel 
deeply,  and  she  saw  now  with  a  clear  eye  the  future 
which  she  had  made  for  herself.  She  was  not  deceived 
as  to  her  cousin.  He  was  the  ordinary  type  of  the 

343 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

English  officer,  better  than  he  seemed,  deeper  than  he 
appeared,  but  indolent,  by  habit  of  life  and  his  vocation. 
For  weeks  she  had  contrasted  him  sharply  with  Marshall 
Treemon,  and  while  she  had  made  her  choice  hastily, 
it  was  in  order  that  she  might  not  be  led  by  her  feelings 
into  error.  Her  cousin  would  make  her  the  husband  of 
the  like  with  which  she  was  familiar — kind,  but  domi- 
neering; opinionated  and  confirmed  in  his  mode  of  life, 
but  leaving  her  reasonably  free  in  her  own  narrow  sphere 
to  find  such  satisfaction  in  the  future  as  she  might  make 
for  herself.  He  would  make  nothing  for  her.  He  would 
live  for  himself,  contented  to  let  her  do  likewise  so  long 
as  she  conformed  to  English  domestic  usage  and  custom. 
She  was  not  ambitious;  but  her  eyes  were  opened,  and 
her  heart  rebelled.  The  larger  country,  over  which  she 
had  an  outlook  from  the  point  of  view  of  her  father's 
lofty  position,  had  taught  her  its  lesson.  She  had 
been  educated  to  learn  and  understand  it.  Its  people 
were  her  people  with  broader  opportunity  and  broader 
leverage — a  more  liberal  domain,  wherein  a  wife  achieved 
a  higher  level  and  stood  nearer  to  a  husband  in  both 
sentiment  and  action.  It  promised  aspiration  and  de- 
velopment. 

Think  as  she  would,  she  must  compare  herself  with 
the  new  woman  with  whom  she  had  come  in  contact, 
and  Rose  Letcher  filled  her  with  a  constant  and  growing 
wonder.  She,  Rose  Letcher,  had  come  out  of  this 
country,  from  some  of  its  indefinite  places,  and  with 
neither  conventional  training  nor  experience  assumed 
readily  a  place  that  brought  the  best  men  eager  and 
smiling  to  her  side.  This  was  a  standard  for  a  woman 
to  judge  by.  The  several  years'  difference  in  their  ages 
did  not  account  for  the  difference  which  she  noted  be- 
tween herself  and  her  new  friend;  there  was  something 
else.  Without  direct  information  upon  the  subject, 
she  knew  that  the  niece  of  her  hostess  had  been  obscure, 

344 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

and  had  labored  in  some  employment  to  maintain  her- 
self. She  saw  the  man  whom  she  admired  and  who  had 
professed  to  love  her,  himself  a  person  of  his  own  mak- 
ing, attracted  by  the  same  qualities  of  speech  and  con- 
fidence that  made  Rose  Letcher  a  compelling  influence. 
She  thought  of  herself,  and  was  depressed.  And  yet 
she  felt  no  loss  of  self-respect.  Her  pride  was  lofty  and 
secure,  but  still  she  believed  that  she  had  missed  some 
necessary  opportunity  which  might  have  developed  her 
the  more.  She  sighed,  and  smiled  to  find  herself  think- 
ing of  purpose  and  resolve. 

In  such  a  mood  a  messenger  from  Captain  Travers 
found  her.  He  was  in  the  library,  the  servant  said. 
Would  she  be  good  enough  to  step  down — at  once,  if  she 
could  do  so? 

She  wondered,  but  was  glad.  Curiosity  was  better 
than  apathy.  He  had  not  been  attentive  of  late,  being 
occupied  with  his  new  experiences  about  the  city.  She 
had  been  touched  by  the  incident  in  the  garden.  Its 
significance  had  been  discussed  by  both  Mrs.  Littlefield 
and  her  aunt  with  Rose  Letcher  in  her  presence,  and 
she  understood  it  fully.  Captain  Travers  had  witnessed 
it  also.  Perhaps  he  was  still  wondering  upon  his  own 
account. 

Entering  the  library,  she  found  him  standing  at  the 
table,  embarrassed,  impatient,  and  laboring  under  a 
state  of  feeling  that  surprised  her.  His  fingers  drummed 
nervously  upon  a  book  before  him,  and  his  manner  be- 
trayed an  effort  to  appear  natural.  But  she  was  not 
deceived.  Usually  his  color  was  high,  but  now  he  was 
slightly  pale. 

For  a  moment  she  was  frightened.  Had  he  become 
suddenly  conscious  of  the  fact  that  he  had  neglected 
her;  and  had  her  aunt  noticed  it  also,  and  reproved  him? 
Was  he  to  make  apology,  and  offer  to  make  amends? 
As  a  relative  she  was  fond  of  him,  but  now  that  she  must 
»a  345 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

regard  him  as  a  lover  her  heart  fell.  She  could  not 
accustom  herself  to  such  a  relationship.  Its  repugnance 
grew  with  her  effort  to  think  of  it. 

"I  am  sorry,  Vic,  but  there's  something  I  must  say 
to  you,"  he  said,  and  at  his  words  she  felt  a  quick  relief. 
"You'll  think  me  a  cad,  but  I  can't  help  it." 

He  was  her  cousin,  and  his  manner  was  now  natural. 
He  had  released  the  hand  she  had  given  him  upon  en- 
tering, partly  in  meeting,  and  partly  because  she  saw 
his  emotion.  Now  she  offered  it  again,  and  smiled  as  he 
took  it,  holding  it  limply.  Marshall  Treemon  would 
not  so  hold  it.  She  knew  the  pressure  it  would  sustain, 
and  the  thrill  that  they  would  both  feel  under  it. 

"I'll  forgive  you  anything  in  advance,"  she  said. 
"What  is  it?" 

He  lifted  his  eyes,  now  looking  straight  at  her. 

"I  wouldn't  be  too  sure  of  that,  Vic.  There  are 
some  things  a  woman  finds  it  hard  to  forgive.  They'll 
forgive  an  injury,  but  not  a  slight.  Answer  me,  before 
I  speak  further — although  I  shall  speak  further,  no  mat- 
ter what  you  say.  Do  you  love  me?" 

She  knew  him  too  well,  and  cared  for  him  too  little 
in  the  sense  in  which  he  spoke,  to  be  abashed.  His 
question  fitted  into  the  very  recesses  of  her  thoughts. 

"I  have  always  loved  you — yes,"  she  answered. 

"That  won't  do,  Vic,"  he  said.  "It  is  not  just  to 
either  of  us.  Let  me  put  it  differently.  Vic,  do  you 
love  some  one  else  ?" 

She  was  silent  for  a  time,  and  he  waited  with  dogged 
patience,  a  smile  creeping  finally  to  his  lips. 

"You  have  a  reason  for  this,"  she  said. 

"Of  course." 

"Then,"  she  replied,  gasping,  as  a  sense  of  the  im- 
portance of  the  situation  overcame  her,  "you  have  no 
right  to  ask  that  until  I  have  answered  the  other  ques- 
tion." 

346 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"I'm  content  to  have  it  that  way,"  he  replied.  "An- 
swer, then." 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  do  not  love  you,  except  as  my 
cousin.  I  have  never  done  so.  Nor  do  you  so  love 
me." 

"Now,  Vic  —  I  say!"  he  cried,  confused  and  chok- 
ing. "You  are  the  truest  and  sweetest — the  dearest — 
the  best,  in — in — " 

"In  all  the  world,  Algeron,"  she  said,  the  tears  in 
her  eyes  as  she  smiled.  "Let's  have  it  so,  cousin,  and 
call  all  else  off.  You'll  get  the  title  without  the  girl, 
and  really  she  isn't  worth  much  to  you.  I  have  con- 
sidered the  matter  of  late,  and  we  have  both  taken  too 
much  for  granted.  But  there  is  my  father  and  there  is 
aunt." 

"Yes,"  he  replied.  "I  am  a  cad,  after  all.  What's 
to  become  of  you  if  you  are  left  adrift,  with  everybody 
thrown  away  during  the  years  it  has  been  expected  we 
should  marry.  I'm  a  selfish  dog.  But,  Vic  dear,  it's 
best  for  you,  you  know.  It's  better  that  I  should  have 
the  title  than  that  you  should  have  me." 

"Have  you  spoken  to  any  one  of  this — to  aunt?" 

"No;  to  no  one — that  is,  except  Rose." 

She  fairly  gasped,  falling  back,  and  supporting  her- 
self with  her  hand  upon  the  table  in  her  astonishment. 

"Rose!     Do  you  mean  Miss  Letcher?" 

"I  mean — Miss  Letcher,"  he  stuttered. 

Victoria  could  only  look  at  him.  This  young  woman, 
who  already  excited  her  constant  interest  and  wonder! 
who  surprised  men  and  women  alike  —  a  fascinating 
enigma  for  all!  Rose  Letcher  had  now  captivated  her 
cousin  and  reduced  him  to  the  intimacy  of  her  first 
name;  had  brought  him  to  the  point  where  he  rejected 
the  plan  of  years,  involving  herself  and  his  relatives — 
to  a  point  where  he,  usually  so  inclined  to  hesitate  and 
be  indefinite,  had  cut  at  one  blow  the  Gordian  knot  that 

347 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

so  perplexed  her,  letting  every  consideration  of  every 
kind  go  to  pot! 

"I  understand,"  she  said,  finally.  "But,  my  poor 
Algeron,  Miss  Letcher  is  a  comparative  stranger,  and 
she  will  be  richer,  far,  than  I.  This  is  her  country — 
with  men  and  women  who  know  her,  and  to  whom  she  is 
known.  Have  you  considered?  I  love  you — yes.  I 
have  known  your  state  of  mind  as  it  relates  to  me,  and 
have  not  held  it  seriously.  I  confess  that  I  have  thought 
to  speak  of  it  myself,  believing  that,  should  I  conclude 
that  a  marriage  with  you  was  not  best  for  me,  that  you 
would,  upon  your  part,  release  me.  But  Miss  Letcher 
— she,  my  dear  cousin,  must  have  trifled  with  you;  or, 
forgive  me — something  far  more  reasonable — you  must 
have  misunderstood  her." 

"By  Jove!"  he  exclaimed,  after  a  moment  of  thought. 
"Is  it  possible,  Vic,  that  you — -a.  peer's  daughter,  and 
more,  and  all  that — you,  who  would  have  married  me 
under  ordinary  circumstances  yourself,  think  Rose  too 
good  for  me?" 

"I  think — that  is — I  think,  my  dear  Algeron,  that 
she  is  too  different.  I  think  you  will  find — 

He  interrupted  her  with  a  movement  of  his  hand. 

"You  have  said  it  right,  at  first,"  he  replied.  "I 
didn't  misunderstand  you.  By  Jove!  but  I'm  in  luck! 
And  beggar  that  I  am,  I  don't  deserve  it.  I'll  tell  you, 
Vic,  although  you're  never  to  mention  it.  I  know  you 
won't,  you're  so  true  and  so  honest.  It's  not  much  of 
a  secret  between  us,  but  it's  hers  and  not  mine.  The 
fact  is — we  are  not  strangers,  Rose  and  I.  When  I  was 
younger — years  ago,  I  knew  and  loved  her.  We  quar- 
relled— and  now  we've  made  it  up.  She  was  poor — we 
both  were  poor,  and  I  didn't  think  to  see  her  again." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  Can  that  be  true  ?"  In  her  astonish- 
ment, which  grew  with  each  moment,  she  scarcely  knew 
that  she  asked  the  question. 

348 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"It's  true,"  he  answered.  "I  knew  her  in  England. 
You're  not  angry,  Vic?  It's  a  secret;  you'll  keep  it, 
and  let  it  go  at  that  ?" 

She  rallied  as  best  she  could,  sighing  again  in  her 
amazement,  and  then  smiling  as  he  pressed  her  hands, 
both  of  which  he  now  held  in  his. 

"Poor  old  Algy!  I'm  not  angry — and  I'll  let  it  go 
at  that.  And  I'll  do  more.  I  thank  you,  my  cousin. 
I  will  promise  not  to  be  curious,  if  you  do  not  wish, 
and  I  will  help  you  with  papa  and  auntie." 

He  pulled  her  to  him  in  a  fervid  embrace,  kissing  her 
on  both  cheeks,  and  holding  her  so  vigorously  that  she 
fought  to  escape. 

"This  is  really  as  it  should  be,  Vic,"  he  said.  "I 
vow  I'll  be  a  man  who  is  worth  something,  hereafter. 
It  looks  as  though  the  world  is  full  of  good  women  if 
we  men  would  just  trouble  ourselves  to  understand 
them.  No  wonder,  when  a  man  realizes  it,  he  becomes 
decent  and  talks  like  that  Irish  fellow  who  backed  up 
his  girl  after  she'd  run  away  from  him  for  some  cause. 
And  Rose  will  love  you,  too.  She  couldn't  help  it." 

She  scarcely  knew  why  her  eyes  grew  moist.  She 
knew  she  did  not  understand  the  depth  of  his  feeling, 
or  its  cause.  But  she  had  a  happy  sense  of  being  free, 
and  that,  too,  with  a  conscience  that  was  at  rest. 

"It's  pleasant  to  know  that  you  are  so  entirely  fond 
of  me,  now,"  she  answered  him,  smiling,  when  they  were 
both  composed.  "But  we've  now  some  new  troubles." 

"I  know  them,"  he  replied,  soberly.  "But  I  can  see 
that  this  will  come  out  right,  although  I  don't  know  how. 
I  think  the  Littlefields  like  me  well  enough.  If  Rose 
thinks  best  to  tell  them  anything  about — about — the 
old — romance — she  will  know  how.  But  we  will  not 
mention  it." 

"No." 

"And,  Vic — while  I'm  glad,  I've  thought  about  some 
349 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

things,  as  a  man  will,  you  know.  We  can't  do  anything 
more  than  pull  ourselves  out  of  our  own  holes,  we  men. 
How  about  you — old  girl?" 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  smile,  leaving  him  as  she 
went  towards  the  hall.  At  the  door  she  stopped  and 
looked  back  at  him. 

"That's  a  serious  matter,"  she  said.  "More  serious 
than  you  think,  my  dear  cousin.  I  am  going  up  to  my 
room  now,  to  think  it  over." 

She  laughed,  and  he  felt  relieved;  but  when  the  cur- 
tains had  fallen  behind  her  he  stood  pulling  meditative- 
ly at  his  mustache.  Then  the  situation  settled  itself 
like  a  revelation.  He  would  go  and  ask  Rose  about  it. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

THE    BREAKING    OF   THE    ANVIL 

MARSHALL  TREEMON  went  very  circumspectly  to  the 
Littlefield  house.  He  was  treading  very  gingerly  on 
these,  the  familiar  Washington  streets,  because  he  was 
walking  daily  towards  his  destiny,  and  he  knew  it.  He 
had  not  met  Victoria  Wemyss  alone  since  his  return 
from  Europe,  and  he  sought  no  opportunity  to  do  so. 
He  desired  that  each  should  have  time  in  which  to  fully 
consider  their  relationship  and  make  no  error  regarding 
it.  But  he  was  basking  very  pleasantly  in  the  kindness 
of  Rose  Letcher,  who  of  late  had  exhibited  an  increas- 
ing warmth.  He  could  talk  to  her  as  he  could  talk  to 
no  other  woman,  because  of  her  largeness  of  mind,  her 
consciousness  of  human  error,  and  that  familiarity  with 
human  conduct  that  enabled  her  to  treat  boldly  and  with 
no  appearance  of  unwomanliness  those  matters  from 
which  a  home-sheltered  and  inexperienced  girl  like  Vic- 
toria would  have  shrunk.  This  it  was  that  enabled  her 
to  care  for  Maggie,  and  made  her  companionable  and 
sympathetic. 

On  the  afternoon  following  the  meeting  of  Dan  Magee 
and  Maggie  he  called  at  the  Littlefield  house  to  see  Rose. 
Mat  Durgan  had  come  to  his  hotel  and  told  him  some 
news  of  interest. 

"Yes,"  said  Mat,  following  a  recital  of  Dan's  appear- 
ance in  Washington,  his  meeting  with  Maggie,  and  their 
return  that  morning  in  each  other's  company  to  New 
York,  "we  should  have  let  you  know  of  it,  but  I  heard 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

of  the  meeting  when  it  was  over,  and  saw  them  only  at 
the  station.  Rose  Letcher  and  her  new  aunt  were  there, 
and  saw  them  off.  I'd  have  gone  home  meself,  for  me 
business  needs  me,  but  I'm  uneasy  about  Jake  Roth. 
He  can  take  care  of  himself  for  sure,  but,  then,  a  man 
often  needs  a  friend  by  him.  I  went  to  his  quarters  at 
the  hotel,  but  he's  quit." 

"What's  the  matter  with  him?"  Marshall  had  asked, 
in  real  concern. 

"If  I  knew,"  said  Mat,  "I  wouldn't  be  here,  probably. 
I'd  go  home  about  me  business.  He's  an  enemy  upon 
his  mind  that  he's  to  get  square  with,  but  I'm  thinking 
that  he's  getting  up  his  courage  to  see  Rose.  I'd  call 
her  Miss  if  she  was  here,  but  she's  Rose  when  I'm  talk- 
ing about  her.  It  must  be  so  with  Jake.  I  guess  you 
understand?" 

"Yes,"  said  Marshall,  seriously,  "I  think  I  do." 

"Then,  sir,"  Mat  had  said,  "I  think  I  can  go  home, 
and  you  can  keep  your  eyes  open.  A  good  word  to 
him  from  an  old  friend  might  save  him  something.  He's 
a  man  to  kill  himself,  Senator  Treemon.  There  are  such 
men,  you  know.  I'd  like  to  say  good-bye  to  Miss  Rose, 
too,  and  leave  a  good  word  for  Jane;  but  the  house  she 
lives  in  now  don't  fit  me,  and  I  couldn't  go  by  that  fat 
flunky  in  the  striped  suit  on  the  steps  and  keep  me 
face  straight — and  I'm  unwilling  to  hurt  the  feelings  of 
any  man.  Call  and  see  us  when  you  come  to  New  York. 
And  tell  your  friend,  Mr.  Duffield,  that  I  dare  him  to 
try  to  do  me  a  business  favor  and  think,  because  he's  a 
rich  man  and  I'm  a  poor  one,  that  I  wouldn't  accept  it. 
Tell  him  not  to  misunderstand  my  words  the  other  day, 
and  try  it.  I'll  not  step  aside  from  any  good  thing  he 
wants  to  send  along." 

Marshall  Treemon  bade  him  good-bye,  promising  at 
the  same  time  to  take  his  message  to  Rose,  and  upon 
Mat's  departure  hurried  out  to  make  his  call. 

352 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Hilliard,  the  pompous  object  of  Mat's  mirth,  met  him 
as  usual  with  fat  deference,  and  Marshall  had  now  the 
temper  to  smile  upon  his  own  account.  Another  plush 
lackey  was  despatched  with  his  message  up  the  broad 
stairs,  and  Hilliard  then  announced  that  Miss  Letcher 
was  at  home  and  would  be  down. 

Marshall  Treemon  was  not  kept  waiting.  Rose 
Letcher  came  in  smiling  and  with  out -stretched  hand, 
but  they  were  scarcely  seated,  and  she  had  begun  to 
tell  him  of  Maggie,  when  Hilliard  appeared  between  the 
curtains.  He  was  flushed,  flurried,  and  indignant. 

"Hi  beg  pardon,  Senator  Treemon,  but  there's  a  per- 
son at  the  door  who  insists  on  seeing  you.  Hi  sug- 
gested 'is  calling  at  your  h'partments,  and  hasked  'im 
the  nature  of  'is  business,  which  'e  refuses  to  state. 
When  'e  said  that  'e  desired  to  see  my  young  mistress 
also,  Hi  was  alarmed.  'E  looks  ugly  enough  for  any- 
thing, sir,  and  'e's  a  common  man ;  but  thinking  it 
might  be  politics  for  you,  sir,  and  'oping  it's  not  a  begging 
matter,  since  'e  asks  for  Miss  Letcher  also,  Hi  thought 
proper  to  state  it,  sir.  'E's  waiting  yet." 

Marshall  Treemon  could  scarcely  suppress  a  smile  in 
spite  of  his  surprise.  Politics!  Even  this  autocratic 
guardian  of  the  portals  knew  his  atmosphere.  A  whis- 
per might  mean  a  nomination. 

"What  is  his  name?" 

"'E  wouldn't  give  it,  sir.  'E's  a  most  common  per- 
son. Begging  your  pardon,  but  Hi  think  'e  was  waiting 
behind,  and  followed  you  up  the  steps,  sir.  Hi  think 
Hi  noticed  'im  on  yesterday,  watching  the  place." 

"And  he  spoke  of  me?"  said  Rose  Letcher,  wonder- 
ingly.  "Look  and  see  who  it  is,  Senator." 

She  yet  retained  some  of  the  limitations  of  her  former 
years,  but  they  were  not  marked  enough  to  prejudice 
her  with  her  new  relatives.  She  had  found  most  people 
limited,  and  hence  her  confidence  in  herself.  Marshall 

353 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Treemon  stepped  beside  the  agitated  Milliard  and 
drew  aside  the  curtains. 

"Why,  it's  Jacob  Roth!"  he  said,  turning  to  her. 

Rose  flushed  a  little,  and  thought  quickly.  Jacob 
Roth  possessed  a  state  of  mind,  as  she  knew.  But  she 
did  not  know,  as  Mat  Durgan  had  suggested  to  Marshall 
Treemon,  that  it  was  now  accented  and  inflamed.  She 
had  expected  to  see  him  some  time,  and  was  not  afraid. 
She  liked  Jacob  Roth,  and  felt  kindly  towards  him;  but 
he  would  recognize  the  change  that  had  come  to  her. 
This  was  as  good  a  time  as  any  to  see  him,  and  the 
presence  of  Marshall  Treemon  was  fortunate.  It  would 
save  them  both  embarrassment. 

"Show  him  in,"  she  said  to  the  astonished  Hilliard. 
"Draw  the  curtains  after  you,  and  see  that  we  are  not 
interrupted.  If  Mrs.  Littlefield  comes,  tell  her  that  I  am 
engaged  here  with  Senator  Treemon  and  a  visitor,  and 
show  any  caller  into  the  back  drawing-room  or  library." 

This  was  English  that  Hilliard  could  understand. 
Freed  from  responsibility,  he  bowed  himself  out,  con- 
scious that  all  things  were  well.  In  another  moment  he 
had  ushered  in  the  visitor,  and,  drawing  the  curtains • 
returned  to  his  post  at  the  door. 

Jacob  Roth  hesitated  a  moment  in  the  uncertain  light, 
glancing  about  him.  Then  he  saw  the  figures  before 
him  and  stopped  as  they  came  towards  him. 

"Good -afternoon,  Jacob,"  said  Marshall  Treemon, 
offering  his  hand.  "I  heard  that  you  were  in  Wash- 
ington, and  would  have  been  glad  of  a  visit  from  you. 
I  suppose  you  saw  me  enter  here — I  believe  you  wished 
to  see  Miss  Letcher  also." 

He  spoke  on  because  he  now  noted  the  look  in  Jacob 
Roth's  face,  and  remembered  what  Mat  had  said  to  him. 
He  dropped  his  hand  as  the  other  stood  immovable. 

"Good-afternoon,  Mr.  Roth,"  said  Rose. 

Jacob  Roth  drew  a  quick  breath  at  the  sound  of  her 
354 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

voice.     He  trembled  slightly,  but  kept  his  gaze  fixed 
on  Marshall  Treemon. 

"Good-afternoon,  Miss  Rose  Letcher,"  he  said,  slow- 
ly, his  voice  low,  and  showing  his  effort  to  restrain  him- 
self. "I'm  not  shaking  hands  with  Marshall  Treemon 
just  now.  But  I  wanted  to  see  you  together,  because 
you  know  me,  I  reckon,  and  understand  that  I  try  to 
keep  my  way  straight." 

Marshall  Treemon  hesitated,  and  looked  with  a  quick 
side  glance  at  Rose.  In  an  instant  he  understood, 
but  he  felt  not  the  slightest  enmity  against  the  man 
before  him. 

"There's  some  mistake,  Jacob — "  he  began,  when  the 
other  interrupted  him. 

"Call  me  Roth,"  said  he.  "There's  no  mistake. 
That's  the  language  with  which  a  man  like  you  meets  a 
man  like  me  under  these  circumstances.  I'll  say  my 
say,  and  settle  it  with  you  afterwards." 

"I  am  not  offended,"  replied  Marshall,  quietly.  "I 
shall  gladly  listen  to  anything  you  may  say  to  me.  But 
this  is  Mr.  Little  field's  house  in  which  you  find  me,  and 
we  had  better  leave  it  for  a  discussion  of  our  own.  Come . ' ' 

"No — no,  you  don't!"  exclaimed  Jacob,  fiercely. 
"All  houses  are  the  same  to  me  now;  but  I  suspect  that 
this  is  part  yours,  if  I  understand  the  ways  of  you  aristo- 
crats, which  heretofore  I  thought  that  Miss  Letcher  did 
not.  Maggie  Rooney  said  something  to  me  this  morn- 
ing when  she  said  good-bye  in  the  car  that  has  changed 
my  purpose,  good  luck  to  you — but  it  won't  suppress 
the  truth  which  I  have  found  out.  I  was  at  the  station, 
but  I  didn't  care  to  meet  Miss  Letcher  yet,  nor  the 
Littlefield  lady  that  was  with  her.  So  I  waited  within, 
seeing  her,  with  Dan,  when  the  rest  had  gone  as  the  train 
pulled  out.  'Rose  has  met  the  man  she  knew  and 
loved  years  ago,  Jake,'  she  told  me,  'and  she's  going  to 
marry  him.'" 

355 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Rose  started  quickly,  and  Marshall  Treemon  swung 
suddenly  about  with  a  movement  that  made  her  start 
again.  Her  confusion  was  evident,  and  his  growing 
surprise  so  great  that  Jacob  Roth  stepped  forward  to 
attract  his  diverted  attention,  his  own  voice  showing 
his  increasing  anger. 

"Maggie's  not  to  be  blamed,"  he  said.  "She  was 
telling  it  out  of  her  happiness  and  good-fortune,  but  it 
went  home  to  me.  Rose  Letcher  has  said  to  me  that 
she  had  a  grievance  against  some  man  in  the  past,  but 
I  never  suspected  him.  Who,  then,  should  it  be  but  the 
man  who  finds  the  money  for  old  man  Beechy,  who 
goes  to  the  East  Side  pretending  that  he  never  saw  the 
woman  to  whom  I  introduced  him,  and  she,  with  a 
woman's  art,  concealing  it,  too.  And  then  he  sails 
away  with  her  to  Europe,  keeps  her  there,  and  returns 
to  make  it  out  that  she  is  rich,  too,  having  found  rel- 
atives—  as  old  man  Beechy  heard  of  a  son.  Who  is 
she  a  relative  of  but  you — you,  who  have  been  false 
all  your  life,  cheating  your  friends,  your  constituents, 
the  public,  and  every  one  that's  had  to  do  with  you? 
And  I  find  you  here  together  now." 

"Are  you  crazy?"  said  Marshall  Treemon,  when  he 
could  recover  himself  and  find  words.  "What  with 
politics,  unionism,  and  socialism,  have  you  positively 
gone  mad?" 

He  turned  to  Rose  Letcher,  who  recovered,  remained 
quiet  and  apparently  unmoved. 

"Is  it  possible  that  he  is  demented,  and  imagined  the 
words  which  he  imputes  to  Maggie  Rooney?" 

"Use  your  fine  style  while  I  let  you,"  said  Jacob 
Roth,  now  growing  cooler.  "Does  Rose  know  that  your 
name  isn't  Treemon,  that  your  father  was  a  drunkard 
of  the  East  Side,  and  that  your  mother  washed  clothes 
for  a  living?  Have  you  told  her  that  your  name  is 
Beechy,  and  that  the  one  you  carried  to  the  Senate  is 

356 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

false  ?  Have  you  told  her  that  the  reason  you  put  this 
money  up  in  trust  for  Maggie  was  because  she  was  the 
only  decent  relative  you  had?" 

Marshall  Treemon  stepped  back,  pale,  but  holding 
himself  under  control. 

"No,"  he  answered,  his  voice  firm,  "I  have  told  her 
nothing  of  the  kind." 

"I  thought  not,"  said  Jacob  Roth.  "Well,  I  now  tell 
her,  and  I  intended  to  tell  her  before  you.  I  went  to 
the  Board  of  Charities,  and  found  the  record  that  disclosed 
you  to  be  a  pauper  boy,  shipped  West  for  adoption.  I 
went  West,  and  found  the  records  where  old  man  Treemon 
took  you  out  of  the  dirt — the  records  in  the  Monmouth 
court  -  house  that  tell  the  truth.  And  now  I  mean  to 
make  them  public,  in  order  that  the  country  may  see 
what  kind  of  a  liar  the  rich  elect  to  be  a  senator." 

A  silence  followed,  and  then  Rose  Letcher  spoke. 

"Jacob  Roth,"  she  said,  in  a  clear  voice,  with  a  touch 
of  its  old  metallic  sharpness,  "I  will  say  now  that 
there  is  a  mistake,  although  I  do  not  understand  it 
fully.  The  only  interest  your  story  has  for  me,  since 
you  wanted  to  tell  it  to  me,  is  to  induce  a  feeling  of  sor- 
row for  you  and  for  Senator  Treemon — if  it  in  any  way 
affects  him.  What  Maggie  told  you  was  true.  I  am 
engaged  to  marry  Captain  Algeron  Travers,  an  officer 
of  the  English  army,  at  present  a  visitor  in  this  house 
and  the  guest  of  my  aunt,  the  wife  of  Mr.  Colby  Lit- 
tle fie  Id,  with  whom  I  am  now  living.  Senator  Treemon 
never  heard  of  this  matter  until  now,  when  you  force 
me  to  speak  of  it  —  a  matter  that  is  none  of  your 
business,  entirely  mine,  and  not  one  that  we  are  yet 
ready  to  discuss.  I  have  only  to  say  that  I  knew  my 
intended  husband  years  ago;  we  were  sweethearts, 
we  quarrelled,  went  apart,  and  have  recently  become 
reconciled.  I  never  saw  Senator  Treemon  until  you 
introduced  him  to  me  on  the  East  Side.  Why  I  was 

357 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

living  and  working  there  and  why  I  live  and  work  there 
no  longer  is  an  affair  of  mine,  not  yours.  Because  you 
befriended  me  there,  I  was  grateful.  I  am  still  grateful 
for  your  good  feeling,  and  I  hoped  always  to  remember 
you  kindly.  But  you  must  be  worth  my  good  feeling 
to  retain  it.  I  regret  the  vengeful  temper  you  entertain 
for  a  man  who  has  always  spoken  well  of  you  to  me. 
But  that  is  a  matter  which  you  and  he  can  settle  be- 
tween you  when  you  have  gone  away." 

She  ceased,  and  another  silence  followed  her  words. 
Jacob  Roth  stood  like  a  stone,  gripping  his  hat,  his 
countenance  now  frightfully  pale  and  his  forehead  wet. 
Marshall  Treemon  turned  to  her. 

"Well!"  he  exclaimed,  catching  his  breath.  "To  say 
that  you  have  given  me  a  shock  doesn't  accurately  state 
it.  I  am  overwhelmed.  Of  course  I  congratulate  you 
with  all  heartiness — and  Captain  Travers,  also.  When  I 
am  sufficiently  recovered  and  the  matter  is  made  public 
I  will  renew  my  good  wishes.  As  you  say,  the  other 
question  does  not  interest  you.  I  will  go  with  Mr. 
Roth  now." 

Jacob  Roth  kept  his  pose — petrified,  motionless.  His 
iron  hands  had  tightened  upon  the  felt  hat  that  he 
twisted  between  his  fingers.  As  Marshall  Treemon 
finished  speaking  he  turned  without  a  word  towards  the 
entrance. 

"Jacob,"  said  Rose  Letcher,  in  a  different  voice, 
"you  were  really  good  to  me.  Perhaps  in  this  new 
life  that  I  must  live  I  may  never  find  so  true  a  friend. 
I  doubt  if  the  man  I  am  to  marry  will  ever  hold  me  with 
more  devotion.  I  don't  wish  to  forget  that,  and  I  shall 
not.  If  a  woman  is  permitted  to  do  so,  she  will  always 
remember  such  a  thing.  Here's  my  hand.  Good-bye. 
And  may  you  have  an  earnest,  honest,  useful  future." 

He  turned  and  came  back,  taking  the  hand  that  she 
offered  him. 

358 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"Good-bye,"  he  said.  "If  you  hadn't  spoken  those 
words  I  would  have  been  dead  by  night.  Maybe  you 
knew,  and  spoke  them  because  of  it.  Never  mind  my 
future,  but  I'll  remember  you.  A  poor  devil  like  me 
ain't  worth  anything  except  for  fortune  to  play  with — 
to  use,  to  make,  build,  and  hammer,  and  then  throw 
away.  I  can't  be  different,  but  what  you  said  about  me 
being  holden  to  you  was  true.  Marshall  Treemon  needn't 
go.  I've  nothing  to  say  to  him  more  than  to  beg  his 
pardon,  and  that  in  your  presence.  I'm  glad  the  boy 
I  stood  for  when  he  was  a  youngster  turns  out  all  right. 
I'm  no  judge,  I  see.  It  is  better  for  me  to  wrong  him 
than  for  him  to  wrong  me.  The  world  is  turned  upside 
down.  He's  worth  something  to  it,  and  I  ain't." 

"I  freely  pardon  you,  old  friend,"  said  Marshall,  his 
voice  sad,  feeling  the  despair  of  the  man  who  spoke. 
"I  was,  without  doubt,  the  son  of  old  man  Beechy, 
which  fact  I  learned  before  my  adopted  father's  death. 
But  in  all  that  makes  me  a  man  I  hope  I  have  lived  as 
my  adopted  father  would  have  me.  To  him  I  owe  all, 
and  the  debt  I  endeavored  to  pay  him  was  to  remember 
the  poor  people  from  whom  I  came.  Treemon  is  as 
legally  my  name  as  Roth  is  yours,  and  every  duty  to  the 
man  that  gave  it  to  me  forbade  me  to  tamper  with  it. 
It  would  have  done  no  good,  and  in  politics  it  might 
have  done  harm." 

"It's  ended,"  said  Jacob  Roth.  "I'm  wrong,  every 
way.  I  wish  I  knew  a  way  to  square  it." 

"I  wish  you  could  square  it  in  the  only  place  it  can 
ever  do  me  harm,"  said  Marshall.  "You  are  not  the 
only  man,  Jacob,  whom  fortune  plays  with,  you  see. 
The  world  is  turned  upside  down,  and  everybody  might 
hear  that  story  if  only  I  could  keep  it  from  the  woman 
to  whom  I  am  bound  to  tell  it,  in  all  honor.  And  she's 
the  only  one  who  will  never  overlook  it.  That's  been 
my  nightmare.  Good-bye,  old  friend." 

359 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Jacob  Roth  said  nothing.  He  stood  for  a  moment, 
then  passed  through  the  curtains,  and  left  the  house. 

"If  I  understand  you,"  said  Rose,  breaking  the  silence 
that  followed  his  departure,  "I  can  give  you  some 
counsel,  as  a  woman.  This  secret  is  yours.  If  it  is  of 
any  importance,  don't  you  tell  it." 

Marshall  Treemon  smiled  sadly. 

"All  the  evil  that  comes  to  a  man  in  this  life,"  he 
said,  "results  from  his  doing  just  that  thing." 

"And  all  the  evil  that  comes  to  a  woman  in  this  life," 
she  replied,  "results  from  her  not  doing  it." 

"I  stick  to  my  point  of  view,  as  a  man,"  he  said. 

"And  I  to  mine,  as  a  woman." 

He  laughed. 

"The  old  question  of  the  Tree  of  Knowledge,  of 
charity,  of  the  divinity  of  love,  pardon,  and  the  rest  of 
the  things  at  the  base  of  life.  Good-bye." 

They  shook  hands  and  parted. 

When  Jacob  Roth  left  the  Littlefield  house  he  wan- 
dered away  with  head  down,  the  street  which  he  trav- 
ersed leading  towards  the  confines  of  the  city  in  the 
direction  of  the  river — beyond  Pennsylvania  Avenue, 
through  the  park,  past  the  monument,  and  out  in  the 
fields.  He  was  heedless  and  listless,  his  footsteps  slug- 
gish and  labored.  He  passed  under  some  trees,  and  then 
along  a  highway  that  stretched  in  a  white  line  towards 
the  hills.  It  grew  dark,  for  he  wandered  steadily,  in- 
different to  time.  An  abandoned  walk,  neglected  and 
broken,  through  the  crevices  of  the  bricks  the  grass  show- 
ing, followed  one  side  of  the  thoroughfare,  with  some 
scattered  lamp-posts  whose  lights  flared  dismally  by  the 
way  in  these  far  outskirts.  He  muttered  as  he  walked. 

Suddenly  he  lifted  his  head,  glaring  at  a  figure  that 
slipped  along,  shiftily,  its  hands  in  its  pockets,  slouch- 
ing just  ahead  of  him. 

360 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

He  started,  looked  again,  and  then  with  a  few  quick 
steps  brought  himself  beside  the  man  who  stopped, 
fell  back,  and  then  looked  at  him. 

"It's  you,  Turtle,  is  it ?"  And  the  grim  smile  showed 
itself  about  Jacob's  mouth. 

"What  of  it,  Jacob  Roth?" 

The  iron-worker  drew  his  breath  heavily,  and  the 
smile  vanished. 

"Come  with  me,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  the 
shoulder  that  sought  to  avoid  his  touch.  "Here — none 
of  that!"  And  the  touch  became  a  grip  that  tightened 
as  the  great  fingers  slipped  into  the  ragged  collar. 

"What  is  it?     Where?"  gasped  the  man. 

"Come  with  me,"  said  Jacob  Roth  again,  as  though 
disdaining  to  answer  him  directly,  drawing  him  along 
with  a  force  that  admitted  of  no  resistance.  "Come 
quietly,  and  don't  speak.  Don't  you  call  out  or  say 
one  word  to  a  passer-by.  If  you  do — "  And  his  eyes 
grew  fierce  under  the  flickering  gas-light. 

The  man  said  nothing.  He  trembled  under  the  heavy 
hand,  cowering  back  into  his  rusty  garments,  his  head 
shrinking  back  between  his  shoulders. 

Jacob  Roth,  still  keeping  his  clutch  at  the  collar, 
looked  about  him,  and  then  proceeded  into  the  night 
where  a  gleam  of  water  came  through  the  trees  and  a 
line  of  hills  beyond  were  in  black  outline  against  the 
lighter  hue  of  the  sky. 

"Are  you  mad?"  gasped  the  man. 

"Yes,"  said  Jacob  Roth,  "I  am  mad.     Come!" 

And  the  darkness  enveloped  them. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 
VICTORIA'S    LAST    WORD 

SELECT  Washington  put  on  its  best  raiment.  The 
great  English  building  behind  its  solemn  windows,  its 
dusky,  square,  red  surface  now  obscured  in  the  foliage 
and  the  darkness,  except  where  the  light  blazed  through 
its  open  doors  and  gleamed  through  its  drawn  curtains, 
was  a  mass  of  splendor  within.  The  exclusive  diplo- 
matic circle  was  present,  bespangled,  bestarred,  uni- 
formed, and  beribboned  in  a  solemn  pageant  which 
essayed  to  mix  grandeur  with  merriment,  democracy 
with  formalism  and  rule,  and  be  dignified  in  joy.  It 
was  to  have  exalted  assistance:  the  President  was  to 
lighten  the  occasion  by  beaming  upon  it,  for  it  was  the 
night  of  the  English  Embassy  ball.  No  functionary  of 
distinction  was  absent.  The  justices  of  the  Supreme 
Court,  forgetting  the  Sherman  Law  and  all  other  laws, 
joined  the  laughing  throng,  and  the  generals  of  the  army, 
with  the  admirals  of  the  navy,  with  their  sisters,  cousins, 
and  aunts,  came  out  to  meet  the  sister,  the  daughter, 
and  the  nephew  of  the  British  ambassador.  The  select 
circle  had  met  them  informally,  but  to-night  stamped 
them  with  official  approval ;  it  cemented  the  social  bonds 
between  the  greatest  of  the  legations  and  the  lesser 
ministries. 

Marshall  Treemon  was  there  because  he  was  a  sena- 
tor; as  a  lesser  dignitary,  or  citizen  merely,  he  had  fallen 
from  his  high  estate  in  the  select  circle  because  he  had 
neglected,  if  not  deserted,  it.  Now  he  stood  apart  from 

362 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

the  chattering  throng,  and  looked,  with  a  subdued  and 
half-amused  interest,  down  the  line  of  lights,  the  rows 
of  palms  and  plants,  and  the  gilded  decorations  that 
ornamented  the  long  room.  He  had  seen  Victoria 
Wemyss — radiant,  and  apparently  a  part  of  the  joy  and 
spirit  of  the  occasion — by  the  side  of  her  father  and  Lady 
Darrow,  receiving  the  gathering  guests.  He  was  now 
observing  Rose  Letcher  repeat  her  triumph  of  Park 
Lane.  About  her  the  gold  and  blue  and  red  of  the  uni- 
forms grouped  thickest,  competing  with  the  staid  black 
of  the  distinguished  and  prominent  civilian,  and  all 
most  reluctant  to  be  dispersed.  And  on  the  outskirts, 
himself  in  gold  and  red,  Captain  Travers  hovered,  a 
proud  and  delighted  spectator.  It  was  now  known  to 
all  Washington  that  Rose  Letcher,  the  niece  of  Colby 
Littlefield's  wife,  was  to  marry  the  British  officer.  It 
offered  scant  opportunity  for  comment,  being  merely 
another  case  of  an  English  capture  of  an  American  fort- 
une; and  if  Captain  Travers  had  no  title  in  fact,  it  was 
understood  that  he  had  one  in  expectancy,  that  one 
being  the  peerage  of  the  British  ambassador,  and  fully 
worth  the  not  yet  assured  dowry  of  a  wife's  niece.  But 
Marshall  Treemon  could  guess  the  consternation  with 
which  Lord  Wemyss  and  Lady  Darrow  had  received  the 
announcement,  and  he  wondered  how  it  had  affected 
Victoria.  He  sighed,  for  he  was  now  outside  of  things 
relating  to  them,  with  no  excuse  for  any  intimacy  be- 
yond the  observances  of  friendship. 

The  season  had  come  to  Washington,  of  which  this 
night  and  this  ball  was  gracious  and  brilliant  evi- 
dence, and  the  great  houses  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
Littlefield  mansion  were  populated  with  their  annual 
tenants.  The  Federal  Congress  had  convened,  and  he 
had  been  received  into  the  august  bosom  of  the  Sen- 
ate. He  had  resumed  his  official  life  upon  its  active 
side  with  a  strange  lack  of  that  pride  and  spirit  that 

363 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

previously  had  marked  his  career  in  the  hall  across 
the  length  of  the  Capitol  building.  Those  who  knew 
him  well  did  not  miss  anything  in  his  ability,  or  his 
attention  to  duty,  but  they  thought  him  dejected  and 
lonely.  He  knew  that  this  was  true.  He  saw  Vic- 
toria Wemyss  but  seldom,  and  then  most  formally,  al- 
ways in  the  company  of  Lady  Darrow  or  some  of  the 
friends  with  whom  she  had  resumed  relationship.  She, 
with  her  aunt  and  Captain  Travers,  had  for  some  weeks 
left  the  Little  field  house,  and  were  now  at  the  Embassy 
dwelling.  It  was  since  his  last  and  important  conversa- 
tion with  Rose  Letcher,  upon  the  occasion  of  their  fare- 
well to  Jacob  Roth,  that  he  had  grown  moody  and 
reticent.  The  secret  of  the  records  in  the  Monmouth 
court-house  that  he  had  borne  long  in  his  breast  was  no 
longer  his  own.  It  mattered  little  that  it  had  not  be- 
come public,  and  might  never  be — that  those  who  knew 
it  were  silent,  and  would  forget  it.  He  knew  his  duty 
as  he  had  always  known  it,  in  spite  of  Rose  Letcher's 
kindly  counsel.  He  believed  that  she  was  right  as  to 
the  result,  but  not  as  to  the  method  affecting  the  con- 
duct that  must  be  his.  His  perplexity  from  the  begin- 
ning of  his  acquaintance  of  Victoria  Wemyss  was  jus- 
tified in  the  conclusion  which  Rose's  woman's  intuition 
had  suggested.  He  saw  in  it  the  reason  for  his  stupid 
and  self  -  abnegating  attitude  towards  Victoria,  which 
was  cowardly  in  a  lover,  however  it  restrained  the  man 
of  judgment.  He  saw  in  it  his  reluctance  to  go  to  Eng- 
land, his  reluctance  to  speak,  and  the  cause  of  his  failure. 
He  wondered  that  Victoria  had  returned  to  patience 
with  him  at  all,  in  view  of  a  half-hearted  wooing  that 
was  not  a  wooing;  that  accepted  defeat  in  the  beginning, 
and  admitted  such  an  acceptance.  And  this,  too,  when 
he  had  not  declared  the  paramount  reason  for  which 
he,  upon  his  part,  must  forego  the  love  which  he  pro- 
fessed. He  thought  of  this  now  with  some  shame. 

364 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

But  it  would  be  made  good  at  the  moment  of  his  com- 
plete and  final  discomfiture;  for  when  he  should  speak 
to  Victoria,  as  speak  he  must,  he  would  tell  her.  Here 
was  the  bitterness;  it  was  this  that  he  dreaded  and 
feared;  because,  while  heretofore  she  had  been  unat- 
tainable, he  had  hoped  for  her  friendship,  whereas  now 
she  must  hold  him  in  disdain.  But  he  would  speak ;  at 
least  he  would  not  longer  charge  himself  with  cowardice, 
nor  remain  in  her  mind  as  one  whom  she  had  valued 
and  who  had  practised  towards  her  a  wilful  deceit.  So 
he  had  held  himself  aloof,  pleading  a  press  of  duties, 
which  plea  was  just ;  but  he  felt  that  the  girl  reproached 
him,  and  this  added  to  his  bitterness  and  sorrow.  He 
deferred,  with  a  sense  of  dread,  what  he  felt  would  be 
the  final  hour. 

So  feeling,  when  he  had  come  to-night,  viewing  Vic- 
toria as  she  stood  beside  her  father  and  Lady  Darrow, 
it  was  with  a  strange  awkwardness  and  a  strange  hesi- 
tancy that  he  had  received  her  greeting.  She  was  gown- 
ed superbly,  she  was  beautiful,  and  she  looked  at  him 
with  gentleness,  and  had  spoken  to  him  in  tones  that 
yet  thrilled  him.  It  was  because  of  this  that  he  was 
alone,  with  no  mind  for  the  others  about  him,  and  no 
heart  for  the  gayety  of  the  night.  When  he  had  spoken 
to  Rose  Letcher  before  the  throng  that  had  gathered 
about  her,  she  must  have  seen  the  gloom  of  his  spirit 
and  suspected  the  depths  in  which  he  walked.  He  re- 
proached her,  therefore,  for  the  manner  she  had  dis- 
played, the  brilliancy  of  her  laugh,  and  the  light  in  her 
eyes  that  looked  through  him.  He  had  done  his  duty 
to  the  invitation  to  which  he  had  responded,  and  would 
now  go  home.  He  longed  for  the  solitude  of  his  rooms; 
this  scene  and  assembly  were  not  for  him. 

Passing  down  the  line  of  palms  and  flowers  from  the 
corner  of  the  hall  to  which  he  had  retired,  he  came  sud- 
denly, at  a  wide  doorway,  upon  Victoria  on  the  arm  of 

365 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

Captain  Travers.  At  this  point,  the  entrance  being 
between  the  reception-hall  and  the  wide  passage  from 
which  the  stairway  ascended  to  the  second  story  of  the 
house,  there  were  few  near  them,  and  he  stopped,  con- 
fused at  the  sudden  contact. 

"Aw — Senator,"  said  Captain  Travers,  "we  were 
looking  for  you." 

"For  me — you  and  Miss  Wemyss?" 

"Yes.  She  inquired,  and  I  told  her  that  I  had  seen 
you  moping  alone  at  the  end  of  the  ball-room.  Miss 
Letcher  suggested  that  you  had  been  swallowed  up,  and 
we  set  out  to  find  you.  I  don't  know,  you  know;  but 
you  look  guilty.  Is  it  possible  you  were  going  away? 
I  can't  imagine  what  she  meant,  but  Miss  Letcher  sug- 
gested that  unless  you  were  captured  you  would  make 
your  escape." 

"Miss  Letcher  will  not  escape,"  said  Marshall  Treemon, 
with  a  smile.  "If  there  was  room  for  me  in  the  crowd 
about  her,  I  doubt  if  I  should  go." 

"No — really — that's  true,"  said  Captain  Travers,  with 
swelling  pride ;  "  no  one  would.  But  I'm  glad  we  caught 
you.  She  thinks  of  everything — at  all  times." 

"She's  marvellous — a  wonderful  woman!  But  we 
have  only  to  look  in  her  direction  to  see  that  my  poor 
testimony  isn't  needed." 

Captain  Travers  looked  in  her  direction,  beaming  as 
he  did  so.  Then,  with  an  abruptness  that  might  after- 
wards have  justified  a  suspicion  that  Miss  Letcher  had 
made  a  further  suggestion,  perhaps  a  direction  or  com- 
mand in  detail,  he  released  Victoria's  hand  from  his 
arm. 

"Do  you  know — that  I  think  I'll  go  to  her  if  you'll 
be  so  good  as  to  take  charge  of  my  cousin,  Senator 
Treemon?" 

The  manner  in  which  he  left  them  surprised  them 
both;  it  was  a  retreat,  almost  a  flight. 

366 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"I'll  see  you  again,"  he  said,  turning  quickly  away, 
and  Marshall  Treemon  had  no  time  to  reply  before  he 
was  gone. 

"If  you  will  forgive  me,"  he  said  to  Victoria,  as  she 
took  his  arm.  "Shall  we  walk  down  the  ball-room?" 

"Anywhere,"  she  answered,  quietly,  her  countenance 
exhibiting  neither  pleasure  nor  annoyance. 

He  spoke  suddenly.  His  voice  had  its  old-time  firm- 
ness and  decision. 

"You  must  know  now  the  topography  of  this  house. 
I  was  going  home ;  but  it  was  because  I  had  no  thought 
to  see  you,  and  if  I  had,  I  would  have  had  no  thought 
of  going.  Is  there  a  spot,  an  office  or  alcove,  up-stairs 
or  down,  where  I  can  see  you  a  short  time  alone  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  still  quiet  and  with  no  surprise. 
"There  is  an  office  on  the  second  floor  opening  into  the 
hall.  We  can  speak  there." 

"I  thought  there  might  be  such  a  place.  Shall  we 
go?" 

She  made  no  reply,  but  turned  towards  the  stairway, 
and  with  her  hand  resting  upon  his  arm  they  ascended 
to  the  second  floor.  A  few  attendants  were  gathered 
in  the  upper  hall,  along  which  various  doors  opened  into 
chambers,  now  arranged  for  the  convenience  of  the 
women  guests.  In  the  office  to  which  Victoria  had  re- 
ferred, lights  burned  brightly  above  the  desk  and  from 
brackets  above  the  settees  placed  about  the  walls.  It 
was  occupied  by  a  servant  in  uniform,  who  withdrew  to 
the  hall  as  they  entered.  Finding  a  place  at  a  table, 
they  seated  themselves,  facing  each  other,  at  the  end 
of  the  oaken  board. 

Marshall  Treemon  started  to  speak  when  they  were 
interrupted,  a  burst  of  low  laughter  breaking  on  them 
from  the  door. 

They  turned,  and  at  the  entrance  stood  Rose  Letcher, 
with  Captain  Travers  at  her  shoulder. 

367 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"Well!"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  of  surprise.  "Will 
you  kindly  pardon  the  wearied  and  the  ignorant?  We 
hadn't  the  slightest  idea —  Most  of  the  crowd  have  gone 
to  the  banquet-rooms,  and  we  have  broken  away.  We 
hoped  for  a  moment  of  respite  here,  but  we'll  not  inter- 
rupt a  te'te-a-te'te  like  this.  Come,  Captain,  we'll  find 
another  haven." 

She  did  not  wait  for  a  reply.  The  faces  disappeared, 
and  the  heavy  curtains  fell  upon  the  entrance. 

The  color  mounted  to  Victoria's  face,  and  Marshall 
Treemon  rose  for  an  instant.  Then  he  seated  himself 
again,  but  the  firmness  in  his  voice  was  gone. 

"We  are  the  victims  of  a  gentle  conspiracy,"  he  said; 
"so  apparent  that  it  is  folly  not  to  see  it.  You  may  be 
angry,  but  I  can  forgive  it.  And  you  may  be  patient, 
too,  since  it  is  futile.  This  is  my  forlorn  hope — the  final 
rally  of  the  old  guard." 

"That's  a  good  metaphor — since  you  see  fit  to  use 
it,"  she  answered,  gently,  with  a  smile. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  scarcely  knowing  how  to  be- 
gin, his  voice  sinking  and  his  face  growing  troubled. 
"I  told  you  once  that  I  loved  you,  Victoria  Wemyss. 
I  shall  always  love  you.  But  I  did  not  ask  you  to  be 
my  wife,  because  I  feared  to  do  so,  and  because  you 
forbade  it  in  the  declaration  you  made  to  me  in  the  be- 
ginning. I  will  now  tell  you  why  I  could  never  have 
done  so,  and  why  my  love  for  you  tortured  me  because 
of  its  hopelessness.  It  may  lose  me  your  friendship — 
something  I  should  have  prized  as  my  life,  since  something 
nearer  was  denied  me,  but  now  I  must  tell  you.  The 
truth  is  known  to  few;  it  has  to  do  with  my  birth,  my 
early  childhood,  and  hence  with  the  question  of  blood 
and  breeding,  matters  of  such  high  value  to  you  and 
those  who  think  like  you.  Heretofore  it  has  been  a  secret. " 

He  paused,  his  face  contracting  and  his  forehead 
growing  damp. 

368 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

"Is  it  the  story  of  your  humble  parentage,  and  the 
action  taken  by  your  adopted  father  to  make  you  legal- 
ly his  son  ?  If  so,  Senator  Treemon,  you  may  spare  your- 
self. I  know  it  already." 

Her  voice  was  smooth  and  even,  a  moisture  now  about 
the  lids  of  the  eyes  he  thought  so  beautiful.  He  was 
speechless  in  his  amazement. 

"Rose  told  me,"  she  continued.  "She  has  told  me  all. 
She  said  that  you  had  declared  your  intention  of  telling 
me  yourself,  in  spite  of  a  warning  from  her  not  to  do  so. 
She,  therefore,  anticipated  you,  being  a  woman — saying 
she  wished  me  to  view  it  in  perspective.  Perhaps  it  was 
an  assumption,  and  she  begged  me  to  ask  for  her  your 
forgiveness  —  which  I  now  do.  I  admit  in  you  the 
doubt  and  pause  that  came  from  mere  expediency,  how- 
ever wise;  but  if  you  thought  I  could  overlook  the 
nobility  that  could  rise  from  such  a  beginning;  that  I 
would  scorn  a  man  because  of  it — one  who  had  made 
for  himself  such  a  character  as  all  men  give  you — you 
have  misjudged  me  as  a  woman,  and  you  have  some- 
thing to  ask  of  me." 

His  amazement  ended  in  a  joy  so  great  that  his 
tongue  still  failed  him. 

"Victoria,"  he  stammered,  and  she  smiled  in  a  hap- 
piness that  recalled  a  time  when  her  cousin  had  also 
failed  in  the  order  of  his  declaration  to  her,  "is  it  pos- 
sible that  you  will  be  my  wife  ?  Is  it — will  you — " 

She  put  her  hand  in  his. 

"I  have  thought  of  it,"  she  said,  "for  I  knew  that  it 
would  come  to  this.  I  have  settled  all  doubt  with 
myself.  We  women  are  adventurous — where — we  love. 
Last  night  I  read  the  words  of  Ruth  again — those  words 
so  old,  and  so  dear  to  thousands  of  women  at  a  time  like 
this:  'Where  thou  goest,  I  will  go.  Thy  people  shall 
be  my  people,  and  thy — '" 

They  never  thought  of  the  peril  of  this  nearly  public 

369 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

place.  Perhaps  they  felt  the  safety  of  a  presence  out- 
side. The  quick  clasp  of  his  arms  caught  her,  and  his 
lips  stopped  the  words  upon  hers. 

When  they  came  again  into  the  great  ball-room  and 
walked  its  length,  his  head  was  high  and  his  counte- 
nance shone  under  the  lights.  Victoria,  her  gathered 
laces  in  her  left  hand,  her  right  upon  his  arm,  looked 
down  with  a  flush  upon  her  cheeks  that  vied  with  the 
flowers  in  her  hair,  and  Rose  Letcher,  seeing  them,  stopped 
short  in  a  laughing  reply  to  a  question  from  the  Presi- 
dent. His  own  keen  glance  followed  hers.  He  half 
understood  the  meaning  of  her  arrested  speech  and  the 
significance  of  the  smile  about  her  lips  as  her  eyes  caught 
those  of  Captain  Algeron  Travers,  still  hovering  near  her 
— a  smile  that  was  answered  and  followed  by  a  moment 
of  silence. 

The  British  Embassy  was  not  the  only  house  which 
was  the  scene  of  festivities  that  night,  nor  Washington 
the  only  city  wherein  eyes  looked  love  to  eyes  that 
spoke  again. 

Professor  Nathan  Frank,  in  frock-coat  and  black  tie, 
looked  over  his  glasses  down  a  loaded  table,  where  the 
wines  and  fruits  mingled  with  flowers,  and  twoscore 
people  with  eager  countenances  listened  to  his  words 
of  congratulation.  The  police  inspector  was  there,  with 
his  lady,  come  to  do  honor  to  his  old  friend,  and  to  view 
the  presents  in  the  parlor  from  a  United  States  Senator 
and  various  rich  and  distinguished  people  at  the  na- 
tional capital;  and  the  Wellobys  and  the  Pedricks,  with 
Jane  Durgan,  had  gone  into  ecstasies  over  the  bride, 
and  after  the  fashion  of  all  blessed  women  mingled  tears 
with  promises  and  pledges  of  joy.  It  was  a  great  com- 
pany for  the  East  Side,  at  "the  Corners"  of  which  there 
were  all  manner  of  good  wishes  for  the  wedded  pair. 
And  Professor  Frank  concluded  his  well-chosen  words  by 

37° 


PURPLE    AND    HOMESPUN 

reading  from  a  letter,  the  general  significance  of  which 
he  frankly  avowed  ignorance. 

"It  is  from  an  old  friend,"  he  said,  "whom  we  would 
be  glad  to  have  with  us  to-night.  It  is  from  New  Zea- 
land, where  he  has  gone  because  it  is  a  country  whose 
social  institutions  are  in  accord  with  his  views.  I  do 
not  know  what  he  means  by  the  words  'black  shadow,' 
which  is  underscored,  but  in  some  way  they  may  appeal 
to  our  dear  and  beloved  friends. 

"  '  To  Dan  Magee,  my  sincere  friendship,'  he  writes,  'and 
to  '  Forever '  Maggie  my  hope  and  good  wishes.  Next 
to  one  woman  whose  memory  I  shall  hold  always  is  the 
dear  and  bright-faced  girl  whom  I  knew  and  loved  at '  the 
Corners.'  May  their  marriage  be  a  happy  one,  with  no 
clouds  for  its  future.  Tell  them  that  the  black  shadow 
is  gone  from  their  lives  —  that  the  black  shadow  is 
dead.'" 

Maggie,  clinging  to  Dan  Magee,  with  her  white  veil 
trailing  from  her  hair,  looked  with  a  sudden  fear  into  his 
eyes,  reassured  by  the  clasp  of  his  arms,  although  his 
own  countenance  grew  grave.  Then  both  smiled  as  the 
Professor  sat  down  and  Mat  Durgan  rose  with  his  glass 
lifted. 

"May  all  black  shadows  go,  and  stay,"  he  said.  "Most 
of  them  we  make  ourselves.  And  in  the  belief  that  a 
good  lover  makes  a  fine  husband  for  the  sweetheart  that 
understands  him — a  sentiment  which  has  the  indorse- 
ment of  a  lady  I  love,  she  seeing  the  proof  in  meself — I 
drink  to  the  luck  forever  of  Maggie  Magee,  the  sweet- 
heart of  Avenue  A." 


THE    END 


..^SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000136732     5 


; 


